


Phronesis

by seki



Category: The Last Remnant
Genre: Adult Qubine, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The years turn, and people change. But can one truly let go of the past?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Well, where to begin?

I suppose I should start with my background, for context. I'm Qubine, nineteen years old, the ruler of a Duchy in the northwestern corner of a continent-spanning empire, and have thus far proven that both my wits and my talents are ample for the task.

In theory, as a Duke, I answer to both an Emperor and to the decisions of a ruling Congress. In most practical terms, I answer only to myself as sovereign of my own realm. I've been ruling Celapaleis since I was four, officially, though for the first few years my advisors -- naturally -- handled affairs on my behalf. By the age of nine of so I was able to shoulder most of the burden of rule myself. I granted independence to our most prestigious vassal state a few years later -- an excellent decision, for multiple reasons, despite the loss of revenue. I oversaw massive changes, after all the tools that sustained our way of life -- the remnants -- that we had used for millennia crumbled into dust.

I regained a part of my freedom the day they vanished, though that thought didn't occur to me at the time. My father died young, as did his father before him; our life energies sapped by the remnant we each bonded to in turn. It was a price we gladly paid to keep our remnant -- so beautiful and benevolent when bound -- from corrupting our people and twisting their souls.

And Celapaleis had been lucky. My people admired and loved the Umbermarici, but it was for the most part merely an object of wonder and inspiration. Other rulers had remnants without which their cities struggled; I saw my allies left with desert oases suddenly bereft of water, in ports suddenly struck by floods -- the remnants had held back so many disasters, and we had grown accustomed to that safety.

Of course we sent out assistance. I'm not a cruel man, nor are my people heartless. We sent aid, helped lay out roads, built aqueducts and evacuated entire areas where needed. I refused any offers of future financial reward for the aid I sent; there was little point in gouging my peers when the future prosperity of their lands would benefit us all.

Our neighbouring state -- Athlum, previously our vassal -- had been instrumental in the loss of the remnants. There was a war, and they did it for good reason, and at great cost to themselves. I have heard their Lord tell the story himself three times; once to the assembled Lords of the Congress, once to a smaller assemblage of those who had aided their cause more directly, and once, far far later, to myself alone.

The emphasis of the story shifted between the tellings, but the point remained the same; sacrificing the remnants saved the world.

I was -- and remain -- grateful to them, and have made a point of encouraging others to share that view.

I was a callow youth of but twelve years old at the time; more cynical than most grown men I knew, but not immune to hero worship of a sort. My admiration for the young Lord of Athlum was matched only by my pity at his situation. His lover had been a remnant, or at least part-remnant; his sacrifice had been willing, but with so many other losses, the crumbling of the remnants -- the Dissipation -- had been a crushing experience for the Lord of Athlum.

I watched him, aware that my situation and his pride meant that the only aid I could offer was practical and covert; builders and artisans and merchants found their way mysteriously into his towns and villages and were generous with their prices and their plans. My troops -- who were merely passing through on their way elsewhere, naturally -- helped clear out the last pockets of organised fiends from their territory. Everything was calculated to allow me to deny awareness or involvement, and David never confronted me over it.

Athlum flourished as a result, until it was a jewel nearly as brilliant as my own Celapaleis. Along with Elysion -- which had been built on a grand enough scale to remain prosperous and lovely even without the remnant Elysion illuminating its skies -- our corner of the Empire became known as The Glorious Northwest.

I passed through my awkward adolescence, my cynicism unfading, steering my people as well as I was able. I grew into a man, rather unmuscled, but pleasing enough in features to be considered handsome nevertheless. The leadership of the Congress was offered to me; I took it for long enough to be certain I did not wish to retain it. It passed on again, and in time it became the custom for the leadership to be passed on every year or two.

My people sent out great ships into the Western ocean, and returned with news of strange islands and stranger peoples.

I was content enough, I suppose, but found myself often... tired. Weary of how routine things were, I suppose. My people were able to run the details of their own lives for the most part. The empire settled into a peace, only slightly wary. I took lovers to ease my boredom; choosing people who would be discreet and responsible -- my father had left me with a few half-acknowledged bastard siblings, and I had no wish to do the same to any legitimate heirs I might one day have. I kept my head and heart aloft, and my lovers came from the ranks of those who were not tied to any place; when their lives took them from me, I did not object to their leaving.

I travelled a little, keeping to the major cities for the most part. I visited Athlum a few times, as it was a matter of a day's travel and yet different enough to shake my languor; David tolerated my impositions with grace, and I enjoyed my futile attempts to provoke him into a break from his usual polite formality.

After a while it grew into somewhat of an obsession. The man had barely seemed to experience joy since the Dissipation; he was far from grim, but the powerful charisma he had once exuded had faded into subtle charm and grace. He seemed to take some small pleasure at least in solving his people's disputes personally; they still adored him, and he allowed them to bring minor quibbles and disputes for his adjudication on a regular basis. I could see the appeal, but my personality was ill-suited to such an occupation.

I could occupy myself for quite some time watching him make such judgements, on the other hand. Quite aside from the aesthetic value of watching the man himself, there was joy in watching him work. He handled his people deftly, and with a warmth that was admirable considering his general melancholia.

I knew he considered the generals of his armies to be friends as well as advisors; they were an impressively diverse group, but effective at their task. And I knew he maintained friendships with a few other people. Perhaps he was more at ease around those friends; perhaps in private he showed a spark of the true David I recalled. That David had fire and depth and steel; he was unpredictable and exciting; not this pale imitation.

The frequency of my visits to Athlum increased as I tried to ascertain how deep the change ran. It did not take long before I would have wagered half of Celapaleis that he was no more effusive when alone with his companions than he was in public. While he was still an admirable ruler, I yearned to converse with the David of my youth, the one who defied the God Emperor and defeated the Conqueror.

I settled upon a course of action: I would befriend David, and I would help him rekindle that spark of passion.

Friendship truly was my aim, nothing more. Admittedly, he was an eye-catching man, and I was perhaps still a little in love with the vanquishing hero he had been when I granted him Athlum. And it was true that the man had apparently decided that peacetime afforded him the perfect opportunity to grow out his hair; he kept it tied back but it reached past his shoulder-blades. I had spent longer than perhaps decent on imagining how he would appear were it let loose.

But primarily, I felt that David deported himself as if he did not wish to open himself up to emotion. Did he still mourn his lover? His remnants? His friends? He'd lost a great deal in a short time, and one had to expect that that would leave scars of some sort. His behaviour made me itch to break through his barriers; to force him to shout or cry or laugh. He needed to be shaken out of his current apathy; quite aside from my personal distaste for it, David's passivity was a risk to the future. Athlum was a jewel of a state, and David was hale and hearty, but he was also the last in his line of succession. I had some well-concealed relatives I could -- with caveats -- permit Celapaleis to pass onto. David's father had been faithful, his uncle childless. David was unlikely to be seeking marriage in his current state; I was certain that he was suffering the same onslaught of ambitious noblewomen that I did, but I doubted they were any more successful with him than they had been with myself.

I did not wish Athlum to suffer some crisis of succession. If David met with an accident -- and I dearly hoped he would not -- I might be forced to reannex his territory to avoid a power vacuum. Athlum's people were fiercely proud of their independence; they would not be reabsorbed easily.

Those of you of a perceptive mien might note that this all sounds a little contrived as reasoning. It was, and I knew it. The truth was that I was lonely. I had advisors and sycophants among my court, most of whom I listened to when appropriate and could ignore when it suited me. Only my chamberlain could be regarded as really a friend, and he was growing old and frail. His lack of energy meant that he was unwilling to argue with me, and how could I truly be certain of my opinions if I had nobody to discuss them with?

I wanted to know someone who I couldn't just overrule when it suited me, someone with intelligence and experience.

David was of equal rank to my own, was close enough to make regular contact possible, and was -- in my recollection -- able to be commanding and persuasive and intimidating. I wanted to clash wits with that man, to have someone to argue with.

I suspected that the increased frequency of my visits -- approaching once a month, now -- had begun to grate on him, though he was as gracious as ever. I took to using one of my more obnoxious lackeys ahead to announce my visits, in an attempt to further annoy him -- any crack in his facade would be a good starting point for further attacks.

Eventually on one visit, after I had -- rather arrogantly, I admit -- dismissed his Generals from his audience chamber, his patience snapped.

"You really don't have to treat me so formally, David. I really don't require such a grand welcome."

"Perhaps you might consider not sending an envoy ahead to request one, then?"

His teeth were positively gritted, though his tone was light. I exulted internally, and assumed an expression of startled apology. "Ah. Zita's been his usual charming self?"

"Quite."

"My apologies, I only wished him to alert you that I would be arriving. I'll find someone less aggravating to send in future, and you can rein in the formality. Satisfied?"

"My thanks." David's expression was still shuttered, but I thought I could detect a sudden light of decision in his eyes. "Might I ask.. what precisely are you doing here?"

I lowered myself down onto the steps near his seat, smiling. "What I'm doing, David, is sitting on the floor because you've neglected to provide seating for anyone except yourself."

His eyes widened, and just as he was about to make some defense, I waved my hand dismissively. "No, don't fret yourself, that was a joke. I'm here in Athlum because there is no pressing need for me to be in Celapaleis, because Athlum is a pleasant city to visit, and because the climate drives any lingering aches from my knee."

A half-truth at best. I had, as a child, had some issues with my leg, forcing me to use a cane if I needed to be on my feet for long. I had only occasional problems now, and the climate in Athlum was barely a few degrees more balmy than Celapaleis' own. Still, it appeared to appease him, and he looked me up and down with an expression somewhere between paternal concern and weary resignation.

"Oh. Well, you are welcome here, naturally."

I couldn't help it; this was such a transparent falsehood that I actually snorted in disgust. "Naturally? David, you couldn't be any less comfortable with me if I were the living embodiment of the God Emperor."

He looked horrified, and with good reason. I had cut through the last few years of rather delicately-phrased diplomatic falsehood. "My Lord, I admit that I feel more at ease now I know your motives are to do with your own comfort and health, I grant, but I have never refused you my hospitality or..."

"Yes, you're an eternally gracious host, and it's appreciated." I sighed. "In all honesty, Celepalais is boring most of the time. Minor border quibbles take up very little of my attention, and with all of us Lords being so very careful around each other I do not even have the luxury of political machination to occupy me."

David still looked rattled, but amusement was starting to show. "How very candid."

"Refreshing, isn't it?"

He laughed, a laugh as much born of surprise as amusement. "Yes, I suppose it is. Why not take the time to see more of the Empire, if you like travelling?"

I shrugged. "My advisors dislike my travelling too many day's reach from Celepalais. Elysion is about as far as they are comfortable with. And Athlum's hospitality is superior to Ghor's or Bertrude's."

"I'm honoured."

"Of course you are. I'm an excellent guest and you enjoy my company."

I saw him blink, and then his lips curved up into a smile almost as sly as my own. "Is that so?"

"Of course it is." I adjusted my sleeves, and thought for a moment, savoring the small victory. Bluntness seemed effective; I would offer more. "I'm also pleasantly surprised. I was expecting it to take another three or four visits before one of us snapped and you finally started treating me like a fellow human."

"Are you genuinely complaining that I've treated you too like a noble?"

"No, I'm complaining about being treated like your superior. You shouldn't act like you're my subordinate, David. Even if you do seem determined to remain a Marquis."

I was expecting a frown or some protest, but his smile widened further, and he shook his head easily. "I'm afraid 'Duke Nassau' doesn't sit well with me."

"I can assure you that the title doesn't exactly sit easily on any of us." I would have pressed further; this was excellent progress. But I could hear footsteps approaching, and David would be unlikely to stay this unshielded in company. I stood, and gestured towards the entrance.

"One of your advisors is lurking, no doubt wishing to discuss matters of state. I shall leave you to business."

"My thanks, but Athlum has no secrets from Celapaleis. If you wish to remain..."

"Don't be absurd," I said, lightly. Staying here as observer would remind him too much of our situation politically and I wished him to cease holding that in the forefront of his mind; still, I should press my advantage while he was offering concessions. "I would like to take dinner with you later, however. If it wouldn't be too much trouble for you to arrange a meal in your chambers?"

David nodded, slowly, as if rather wishing he could decline. "Ordinarily I would offer to have musicians attend us through the meal..."

Fond as I was of music, that would mean other people being around, and it was evident that the key to success here was getting the man alone. Still, it was his castle. "If that's your preference, so be it, but I'd rather be able to talk freely."

"Very well then."

I bowed low to him, aware that doing so would discomfort him. "Later, then. Be well, David."

\---

I dressed with care for dinner.

David had relaxed to a surprising degree, but that air of vaguely avuncular indulgence was worrying. I did not wish him to treat me like a child; I was as old as he'd been when he'd fought the Conqueror. My usual court garb was much the same as I'd worn when a youth, alas, and did little to emphasise my age.

The alternative was a uniform I wore very infrequently but was obliged to have in my retinue's cases; it was the official uniform of the Commander of the Celapaleian Armies. As I lacked much skill with weaponry -- due to my leg, I'd focused primarily on mystic arts when training -- it felt a little fraudulent to wear such a uniform, but it was far more flattering to my form. It was, however, much too formal for a casual dinner between friends.

I considered the matter at length, and wore the uniform. Maturity was more important at this point than informality. Or so I thought; I realised my miscalculation when David gave a rather frosty apology for not having changed from his own usual court garb.

Irritation would only tighten his defenses, so I did my best to lighten his mood a little. I turned the conversation away from our own borders, and onto more neutral subjects. We spent some time discussing the voyages out to the Western Oceans; he had some intriguing notions about a Sovani homeland and I made a note to relay some of his thoughts to my expeditionary captains.

As his servants cleared the plates, he seemed uncertain of what to expect -- perhaps he was hoping I'd leave him to his own thoughts. I wanted to talk to him alone; dinner had been pleasant once he'd shaken his annoyance, but with servants dancing attendance I was unlikely to be able to recapture the glimpse of the David I had spoken to earlier. I deftly prevented the servants from removing the wine, and refilled our glasses.

As the last of his servants backed expertly out of his rooms, I smiled, lounging back in my chair. Directness had been an excellent tactic earlier. My first tactic would be to address Athlum's succession first; I could allow him to think that it was my main concern, and thus he might relax once the topic was dropped.

"So, to more interesting matters. I assume you're under many of the same pressures from your advisors as I am."

David took up his own goblet, and nodded politely. "That seems very likely, I agree."

"When are you going to ensure the next generation of Nassaus, anyway?"

The man had the audacity to look utterly unconcerned. "I'm not certain. When I find a woman I'm willing to marry, I suppose."

I could not allow him to think such an answer would be sufficient. "I'm hardly a child anymore. Please don't try to pretend your relationship with the Sykes boy was platonic."

David actually looked stung, and I momentarily regretted raising the issue. Well, I could hardly undo my words. "Listen, I mean only that... well, was he an aberration? Or do your preferences lie in that direction generally?"

He seemed only lightly mollified, and his response was tinged with bitterness. "Would it conclude this line of questioning if I informed you that I've barely exercised any preference in years?"

I wasn't particularly surprised, but it seemed politic to feign shock. "Truly? That long?"

"It is not a matter I wish to discuss."

"I understand." I picked up my goblet, and sipped at it as if dropping the subject. After a suitably weighty pause, I shook my head firmly -- forgive me, but I am prone to theatrics on occasion -- and set my goblet down firmly, glaring at David. "Actually, no, I don't understand. It's been a long time since the Dissipation. Are you planning on venerating a memory forever?"

"Of course not. I'm not actively avoiding romance, if that's your concern."

"Ah. But you're not precisely seeking it, either."

"I've met with all of the candidates that would be suitable for securing the succession."

That was hardly an answer either. "Well, certainly. I must agree that I don't want any of that gaggle of highborn sharks in my bed either."

David tipped his head to one side, seemingly thrown, as if he'd forgotten that I was of age to be married too.

"And what are you planning on doing to avoid the issue?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Nothing. Though I suppose I'll most likely elevate some commoner to weddable rank, if it comes to that."

"You're that repelled by the ladies on offer?"

"I think I'm repelled by highborns generally. Most of them are appallingly mannered and tiresome. A commoner would at least have had less training in courtly falseness." As I said it, I realised that I genuinely meant what I was saying. I would rather have picked some random young girl from the street to wed than take to bed any of the nobility who were angling for a marriage. And that same falseness was exactly what David had been hiding behind; that was what had been setting my teeth on edge recently.

I dragged my thoughts back to the present conversation with difficulty. "Besides, my ennobling someone on a whim would make Ghor positively grind his teeth."

"That's certainly one reason to do so."

An angle which would provoke at least some response occurred to me. "Of course, there's the alternative of marrying one of the noble-ranked who hasn't been presented."

"Surely if they haven't presented, they're not truly available? Is there someone you had in mind?"

"Well, your lovely Lady Honeywell is of noble rank. No, I'm not pursuing her," I hastily noted, as David's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I doubt she'd leave Athlum, and if you were of a mind to wed her then you already would have done so. However, she cannot be the only noblewoman who avoids the marriage market. Can you not think of any others?"

David shrugged. "Not offhand. Is there a particular reason you're quite so keen for me to wed?"

"If you want a Duke's answer: Athlum's economy would be well-boosted, and Celepalais would reap a knock-on reward."

This was true, as it stood. A state event on the scale of a wedding would not only provide a short-term advantage in attracting tourists with money to spend, but would also -- if handled correctly -- would create a sense of goodwill within and towards Athlum that might encourage favourable trade generally. David looked thoughtful at the observation.

I doubted he'd be swayed; Athlum's economy was robust. Still, it was useful to remind David that there were justifications beyond his own succession. "That's hardly enough. Any other reasons you wish to provide?"

I shrugged. "Not especially."

Concerned as I was for Athlum's succession, I didn't wish to push David into wedding if he was truly happier alone. But I did wish him to consider the matter seriously.

"In all honesty, your unmarried status does allow me the luxury of also postponing my inevitable union -- for which I'm grateful -- but it would have been nice to think you had a reasoned defense for it."

"My apologies if I have disappointed you."

Well, that was that then. I'd admitted that I wasn't truly invested in convincing him, but perhaps he'd feel he'd achieved a victory nonetheless.

I toyed with my goblet idly. "Still... I'm at a loss. We discussed politics as far as I'd like to over dinner, and you strike me as unwilling to talk of the past. Petty gossip seems somehow a tad childish. Now it seems that the option of ribald remarks over our love lives is also unavailable. What do you want to talk about, David?"

Something I'd said unexpectedly made him smile, almost fondly, and he leaned back in his chair. "Actually, idle gossip and ribaldry might be welcome. Since I have little love life to speak of, however..."

Well, I'd wanted him to be informal. "Mine... is not barren, though I'm careful to avoid anything too juicy for the court gossips to whisper over. Are you truly curious?"

"I think I am. If you're willing to speak of it?"

"Why not? I've nothing to be ashamed of, I think. Unlike my father, I've little interest in tumbling every chambermaid in the castle."

"Ah, yes, I'd heard some rumours along those lines."

I'd wager he had. Quite aside from the few half-siblings I had lurking around the northwest, my mother's determination to rid the castle of her rivals for my father's bed had been fairly obvious. Our staff had become disproportionately composed of qsitis and yamas. It was a miracle I'd not grown up scared of mitras, really.

"I've had a few lovers here and there. Ones chosen for their discretion -- minstrels and mercenaries and the like."

"Chosen? You make that sound so impersonal."

I laughed. "Hardly; merely that I've not pursued attractions to anyone unsuitable. It is not as if I could bed everyone I like the look of, anyway."

"Ah, for the fickleness of youth. I find few enough people catch my eye these days."

"In any event, my most recent conquest was a lovely young mercenary, who thankfully took herself off to hunt trophy beasts in Siebenbur just as the relationship began to pall."

I couldn't tell if he was aghast at that -- in truth, I'd nothing to do with her leaving, but I didn't object to David thinking I was capable of manipulating events on that level. "How convenient."

"Indeed. I've my eye on a bard at the moment, a tad older than I usually like but quite toothsome." And male, not that I wished to inform David of that quite yet.

He looked slightly bemused. "So, how do you approach these women? I imagine it is hard for them to say no to you, as a Duke."

"Come, David, I hope my reputation doesn't paint me a spoiled brat; I am well capable of accepting defeat when my interest is declined."

"Even so; I've always felt it would be strange to sleep with a subject."

I grinned; he'd missed my point. "I pick mercenaries or minstrels or other transients; I've never bedded anyone with a personal loyalty to me."

David smirked, suddenly. "I began a relationship with one of my soldiers once."

"Oh yes?"

"It took him weeks to stop calling me Lord, and I kept worrying that I would be accused of favouring his regiment."

I winced sympathetically, sipping my wine. "I can see that, yes."

"He transferred after I broke it off with him; I believe he's still ensuring he's assigned to border outposts at this point."

"How long ago was this?"

"Six years? Something like that."

I nodded, biting my tongue on a number of responses. Eventually, I settled on saying, "Well, more fool him for being unable to cope, then."

"Quite. I can't imagine what I first saw in him, truly."

"Did you become pickier after that, or were you already -- " I hesitated for a moment, but I'd already given the half-insult, " -- already fussy over your lovers?"

"Well, he was quite handsome. And charming, in a shy, innocent way."

"And you corrupted him? Tsk, for shame."

He laughed, a genuinely amused laugh. "Something like that."

"I can't say I've ever been someone's first lover. I'm not certain I'd wish to be."

David shrugged. "Perhaps; I'm not sure I was actually Janvie's first, but certainly my first time was pleasing enough."

"Mine was a disaster." I shuddered. "But I would need more wine to discuss that."

He gave me a strange look, and then tipped his head to one side. "It sounds as though your lovers have always been temporary?"

"Aren't most lovers? Until I find some weddable woman, I'm hardly going to promise a lifetime."

"And you've met no-one who would make you fight against that fate?"

"Not as yet." I sighed. "I do envy you what you had with your young commander, however. You both seemed very devoted; not that my spies could unearth much detail."

David's eyes gleamed, and I wasn't certain quite which part of my sentence had provoked a response.

"Your people are very loyal," I added. "Both in your castle and in your city."

"That's good to hear." I still couldn't quite read his reaction -- was he amused or irritated? "All credit to them, though; I gave no specific instructions on discretion."

"You didn't need to. Both you and he inspired a great deal of devotion; it was natural that people would wish to protect you."

"I think you underestimate your own people. They'd be just as loyal to you if you chose to pursue love, I'm certain."

"Not to the same degree. You, especially, were dazzlingly confident; I've heard stories of you terrifying men with a single glare." And I believed them; even now, I did not think I wished to make David truly angry.

"I'm sure the same stories are told of you, and at a younger age."

"Well, perhaps." I held out the wine questioningly, and he shook his head. "In any event; one day it would be nice to find love. But I've no particular sense of urgency about it."

"Nor I." He smiled, tilting his head to one side. "And I should to bed soon, I fear; I will be wretched enough as it is from what we've drunk already."

"A clear dismissal if ever I heard one. Very well, I shall oblige you -- goodnight, David."

I stood, and as I left, placed my hand companionably on David's shoulder as a farewell; I was startled to feel quite how much he tensed at my touch.

He bid me goodnight in return, however, so I did not think on it too long.

\---

I did not have a wine headache the next morning, but it did take me a while to gather my wine-hazed recollections into some sort of order the next morning.

It hadn't been a great success, but I didn't think it had been terrible either. I'd managed to get him to drop his defenses and relax somewhat, after all. While he'd clearly still been rather uncomfortable overall, I had worked out a few important things.

Irritation seemed to spark him up temporarily, but only momentarily until he resumed his polite distant veneer. A viable tactic for short-term effect, perhaps, but I did not feel it would effect long-term changes in his behaviour.

Flattery had to be judged very carefully for him to accept it as sincere, at least when the compliments were delivered by me.

Humour worked well, and seemed to make him relax rather than tense up as irritation did. And he found candour amusing, which was to my advantage.

The most effective tactic of all, however, had been indulging his curiosity, once he'd relaxed enough to voice it. As a long-term approach, this wasn't that sustainable; I had no illusions about my ability to produce endless stocks of fascinating information.

This was to be a campaign, not a skirmish; I needed more weaponry if I were to secure victory.

I would need to find a way to get David alone again. I was loathe to ask him for another private dinner, however; it would be prudent not to make the man feel hounded by my presence.

Instead, I would rely on his very politeness to provide the chance for more conversation. The usual form at Athlum Castle was for the marquis, his generals, the courtiers and advisors to dine informally together along with some of the senior members of the castle staff. I'd rarely experienced these, however, since David had been scrupulous in arranging more formal events during my visits. I hoped he'd taken my words of the previous day to heart; after a more informal dinner, it would be likely that I would be able to draw him into his study or library to talk alone.

As David was receiving petitioners that morning and I was feeling restless, I visited Athlum itself. I dropped by various weaponsmasters and jewellers that I liked to patronise, and generally luxuriated in the dryer heat that this city had over mine.

I took a side-trip into Virtus Parish, despite the complaints of my guard. I dropped by the guilds to check the current market rates; one never knew when mercenaries would be needed, and I'd rather not be gouged on pricing. However, I primarily wished to drop by the Warrior's Honor. I would pay my own quiet respects to the memory of Rush Sykes; there was a small plaque on the southern wall in his honor and I placed my moonflower in the vase of others beneath it.

I'd had my own reasons to be grateful to the man, after all.

The bartender caught my eye -- as expected -- and indicated with a tilt of his head that he would like a private word.

He gave me a sly look as we moved into a corner, my guards discreetly warding away interruptions. "The young lord of Celapaleis seems to be spending a lot of time here of late. Isn't that fascinating?"

"I hear he's enjoying the climate."

His moustache twitched with amusement. "Come now, I bet it's not just that which brings him here."

"I suspect he also wishes to escape the attentions forced upon him at home."

"I see. Poor dear, I do hope he's not being reckless."

I grinned at him. "And what of Edmund? Does he still enjoy his position here?"

"More so than any position he could find elsewhere."

Curious, how little ambition he seemed to possess. He betrayed no hint of his heritage in his attitudes towards power. "You've truly no urge to return to Celapaleis?"

"Please, I think you'd rather I not excite my mother's ambitions. Besides, here I get to occasionally rest my eyes on the lovely young Marquis."

"He is rather pleasing to the eye, I admit."

He smirked. "Your taste's improved."

"Nonsense, it's always been excellent."

"And would he be the company you're seeking, then? Should I be getting jealous?" His pout was spectacularly overdone. If I wasn't aware he acted like this with even the most casual of his acquaintances, I'd have worried that people would have thought us squabbling lovers.

"I said I was avoiding company, not seeking it. And I'm as capable as you are of admiring without further urges."

"Very well." He gave me a fond look. "Give my love to my mother, if you happen to see her."

"I believe her new husband prefers her to remain at his estate. But I'll try and pass the sentiments along."

"My thanks. And don't upset Lord David."

I cuffed him fondly on the shoulder, and left him to his work. One day -- perhaps after his mother had passed on -- I would truly attempt to convince him to return home with me. In the meantime, I accepted his absence and partisanship as a price well worth paying to keep him out of harm's way.

I wondered if David even knew of the connection. I suspected not, and it did no harm in any case; my brother had bluntly refused any enticements I could offer to make him my spy, and if he wouldn't spy for me then David could be assured that nobody else would win his loyalty.

Drifting back towards the castle, it occurred to me that I could have asked him for advice. He was perhaps one of the few people who'd been observing David's habits for longer than I had, after all.

\---

Dinner was indeed rather informal that evening, to my relief. We did have to suffer through some mediocre vocalist's idea of an aria as a prelude to the meal, but the meal itself was accompanied by a quietly excellent stringsman.

The meal was hearty and spiced in that slightly bitter way that Athlumian food seemed to favour, and I lingered over it as I watched David and his generals converse genially. I gathered that the day's petitions had gone well; from the jokes, I also gathered that David had indeed started his day with the wine headache he'd predicted. I shrugged innocently at his look of mild accusation, but felt a sense of triumph at the familiarity that such a look even implied.

I had readied a mild jibe intended to coax him into inviting me to join him for a drink after dinner, but it wasn't necessary; as the meal drew to a close he very offhandedly tendered me the invitation I'd wanted.

Athlum's library was less spacious than my own, and littered with small piles of books and scrolls that had no apparent order; I'd have laid good odds on there being no full catalogue of the contents. The room was bright with warmly burnished woods, however, and battered couches were thoughtfully located near a small -- and well-shielded -- fireplace in one corner.

David retrieved a bottle of brandy and some glasses from a small cabinet, and we sat near the fire and drank in what seemed to be a comfortable silence.

I gazed into the flames, thinking. He seemed far more relaxed today than he had been, and his affection for his generals had been very clear at dinner.

"So I have been considering a few things," David said quietly.

I raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Your visits have become frequent, and I don't doubt your word that your health benefits from being here. However, I'm fairly certain that's not the entire truth. Are you willing to explain further, or must I be content with the half-truth?"

"If I asked you to be content, what would your response be?"

"I'd ask for an absolute assurance that you are not indulging your desire for intrigue and manipulation at my expense, or at my city's expense."

I nodded, amused. "I can assure you of that in any case."

"Very well." He did not look very pleased, and I sighed.

"David, you are the closest thing I have to a friend. I'm here because of that; I merely like spending time with someone who is my equal."

He tilted his head to one side. "I... forgive me, but you accused me of not treating you like a human the other day. And yet you think of me as a friend?"

"Not quite. But as someone who could be, if he'd allow it."

He leant back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. "Let me ask then: what is it that you expect of me, as a friend?"

"I..." I was at a loss for a moment. "Our conversation last night, that was as one between friends, would you agree?"

"Certainly."

"It has taken us a decade to have a conversation that relaxed and informal. And you were still uncomfortable."

He frowned. "Idle chatter? That's what you seek?"

"Is it so ridiculous?"

"Perhaps not. But, and forgive me," and he actually looked apologetic as he spoke, "you have always seemed to regard me as your inferior to command, even when I was head of the Congress. Which does not strike me as the best foundation for a friendship."

"David, I have not thought of you as an inferior in many years, I assure you."

"Even so."

He was staring into the fire, that frown still drawing his brows down.

I sipped my brandy, thinking hard. "It's not that I ask so much. I'm fully aware that most friendships follow a natural progression; an exchange of trust and mutual respect and confidences."

He glanced at me, and his frown dissolved as he tried not to laugh. I reviewed what I said, and had to laugh too.

"That wasn't meant to sound so pompous. I... I merely mean that I know friendships should be earned. But I'm weary of thinking it over; I cannot work out how it is that we have spent so much time around one another and yet camaraderie still eludes us."

He sighed. "I am not certain. I suppose -- I am willing to try to think of you in that light."

"My thanks," I said, and then realised how curt that sounded. "Genuinely."

He tipped his head to one side. "Perhaps that is why; I'm never certain when you mean what you say."

I snorted in lieu of a suitable response.

We both sat again in silence, this one less comfortable. After a while, David refilled our glasses.

"I am rarely dishonest," I said, after a while. At David's look, I clarified. "I do conceal things sometimes, for expediency's sake. And I play the polite diplomatic game; we both do, and don't you dare pretend otherwise. But I do not lie often."

He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. I've known you feign ignorance, but not to claim knowledge where you had none."

"Well, I rarely lack knowledge."

He smiled at that. It was true; my intelligence service was excellent and I was usually well-informed. "You also rarely lack humility."

"A minor flaw in an otherwise sterling character, I'm assured."

He chuckled. I admired the effect for a moment.

"It's good to see you laugh."

"Goodness, you sound like I'm forever miserable in your presence."

"Well, no." Could I phrase my thoughts in a way that did not insult him? "But you... withdraw into a shell of formality. And I hardly think that it is merely around me; you do not engage with the world enough any more."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, honestly, you have not seemed truly yourself in a long time, David."

He frowned. "People change. This friendship will not go well if you persist in comparing me unfavourably to my younger self."

I confess, I'd not realised the hypocrisy I'd been committing until that moment. I kicked myself internally; how could I expect him to treat me as the person I was now if I didn't extend him the same courtesy?

"You're absolutely right. My apologies." I managed.

He tipped his head to one side, and smiled at me. "Shall we begin over?"

"Yes, I rather think we should." I stood, and held my hand out to him in polite greeting. "Qubine of Celapaleis."

He stood, and took it. "David Nassau of Athlum."

"A pleasure."

"Indeed." We sat, and then both burst into idiotic grins. "I believe your realm borders mine?"

"Yes, I think so. We may even have a few trade agreements and so on."

"Absurd we haven't met before, really."

I laughed, and we played at this new beginning for a while. In many ways it was actually illuminating to see how David chose to present himself; he seemed far more willing to show pride in Athlum than in himself. Eventually I made as if I had suddenly recollected where I'd heard his name before -- in the stories of the last war.

Had I not spent so long observing him, I'm not certain I'd have noticed the change in his demeanour. His voice remained very light and polite, but I could definitely detect a sudden coolness.

"Yes, I was there."

"You were rather central to the conflict, I've heard? Forgive me, one does not meet a legend every day."

"Hardly a legend, merely someone who wished to prevent catastrophe."

I wondered if he was genuinely this diffident about it in front of new acquaintances. Quite probably he was, and I did not think it was entirely due to his lost lover. Interesting.

"Well, I'm grateful to you nonetheless. And curious; you must have seen many strange lands on your travels; what thought you of Undelwalt?"

"At the time? I found it intimidating, if a little shabby. I hear it has fallen further into disrepair since."

I kept him discussing other cities for a while; he relaxed soon enough, and I resolved to avoid raising anything relating to the war for a while. By the time we agreed to adjourn for the evening, the brandy was three-quarters gone and I was feeling once again a little intoxicated. And I had a far better idea of the disconnect between the David I'd expected and the David that existed.

He'd indeed grown less idealistic, less fervent in his desire to remake the world to fit his concept of how it should be. But I concluded that I'd misjudged him rather in other respects; he was far from apathetic. While he expressed his feelings with less passion, I had to accept that this was not because he felt them less keenly, but because he had a stronger sense of what emotions were suitable to express in front of other Lords.

I still itched to be an exception to that, however. Perhaps I was loathe to admit defeat; perhaps it was merely that I felt I'd broached his outer defenses, and therefore could indeed bridge that distance he maintained if I kept at it.

I really should have analysed my motives more clearly, in retrospect.


	2. Chapter 2

A full month and a half passed before I had any justifiable excuse to return to Athlum; as flimsy as it was, the minor border dispute between two of our subjects _was_ easier to iron out in person and then it wasn't hard to declare that I would stay for a full week. David offered me his hospitality again; this time I was not welcomed with any great formality, and we clasped each other's wrists in easy greeting.

I pleaded tiredness the first evening I was there; my arrival had not afforded David much advance warning, and I did not wish the poor man to feel as if he had to allow me to monopolise his every evening.

The next day, however, he invited me to attend dinner in his quarters; I pointedly wore my customary court garb, and he acknowledged the gesture with a raised eyebrow.

The dinner was a lightly salted fish that seemed to me wholly unfamiliar in taste; when questioned, David mentioned that it had been caught in one of the caverns under his territories. I was unaware that fishing was possible there, and before long David had requested a page to bring us a scroll with illustrations of the sorts of fish that lived in such lightless conditions.

On seeing the pictures of the creatures, I was glad I'd been unaware; I wasn't certain I'd have even attempted to eat such a monster if I'd known its appearance.

That observation seemed to amuse David immensely, and soon we were immersed in a discussion of the fine dishes that could be cooked from hideous beasts. The servants cleared away the dishes, and brought us more wine, and suddenly it was as dark as pitch oil outside and I realised I'd been talking about some recent bardic performances for about half an hour. I wasn't even certain how I'd landed upon that topic -- hadn't David been talking about gemstone production a moment ago?

I waved a hand vaguely, having lost my trail of thought. "You should come visit if you like music. I have all the best minstrels."

David made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Did I say something amusing?"

"No, no, merely recollecting that minstrels made your acceptable list."

It took me a moment to decipher his meaning, then I snorted. "I don't bed the good minstrels."

Realising how that sounded, I waved a hand hurriedly in negation as David's suppressed giggle turned into a full laugh.

"I... oh, well. I meant -- never mind."

He grinned. "You avoid complications, I know. And wishing to retain someone professionally means not indulging them personally, correct?"

"Precisely."

"One day, you _will_ find a woman who'll get past that attitude. I hope I'm around to witness it; it should be quite the event."

I bridled a little at that. "As I told you, I'm hardly averse to the idea."

"Someone spectacular will be needed. But it'll happen; you're too fine a man to go uncaught for long."

I doubted it was meant as anything other than a mildly complimentary remark, but I felt a little bemused by the flattery. "I rather hope so."

"Humility, from you?"

"Unusual as it is, yes. I think you're right that I will need to be dazzled. But I think that's a lot to ask for; too much, perhaps, to expect."

"Come now, you're certainly worth it."

Now _that_ was nearly outright flirtation. I blinked. "Easy for you to say; you found someone who fitted your desires."

"Hmm. Rush never intended to catch my eye; he was just himself. There was no effort on his part."

"Yes, yes. Perhaps I will be even luckier than you, and chance upon a lover who is dashing, clever, charismatic and attractive. And unwed. And perhaps noble, too." I sighed. "I doubt it's likely."

He looked slightly abashed. "All I meant was that you can't assume you won't find someone to suit."

"No? I can't think of a woman who meets all those requirements and who might be interested. Nor many men, come to that."

He looked -- rather to my surprise -- startled. "Oh. Forgive me, I assumed..."

I reviewed what I'd said previously, and then grinned in realisation. "Hm? Oh, I've bedded men before. They have their advantages."

His eyes were still a little wide, but he seemed amused as he asked, "such as?"

"Men do not get pregnant. Which makes them excellent as lovers in the short-term, but probably not ideal in the long run."

"Ah. I see. Can I ask... you prefer women?"

"In general terms, yes. Men don't often catch my eye, and they also assume.. well, never mind."

I seemed to have sparked his curiosity, but despite a raised eyebrow he didn't follow up on my self-censored remark. Which was probably as well; I had no particular urge to discuss the tendency of my previous male lovers to assume my slightness of build translated directly into submissiveness in the bedroom.

"I see. But 'not many' men live up to your list... that is more than none."

"One comes to mind. And he's almost certainly uninterested."

"Are you certain? I thought you uninterested in men until a few minutes ago, after all."

"You know all of the nobles in the northwest, David. Do you think any of them qualify?"

He looked thoughtful. Poor man. Only a handful of minor noblemen were unwed and attractive, and all of those seemed determined to share every whore in Celapalais's docks. "I can't bring any to mind."

"Indeed. And I will not name anyone. And so, let us discuss instead your options."

"Oh, let us not. They are as barren as yours."

"Which, as we've established, is not actually completely bare of desire, merely lacking in reciprocal attention."

"Indeed. Perhaps I should take up with some minstrels."

I laughed. "I can recommend it. Love is not necessary for the occasional tumble, you realise."

"I rather prefer it."

I tried to assess his mood and concluded that he might tolerate a direct question on the topic. "When was the last time you actually indulged, if you'll forgive me so bold a query?"

"I -- ah, Kosmosfest, a couple of years since."

"Thank heavens, I thought perhaps you might say it had been your soldier boy."

"I am not quite made of stone, thank you." He sniffed, as if mildly offended.

"Even so, that is still quite a span. Do you truly not desire the, uh, physical?"

He laughed, and there was a strange edge to it. "Of course I do. But it's fleeting. And I'm afraid I fear people desire David Nassau, Marquis of Athlum."

That sentiment was a familiar enough one that it gave me pause. I chose my lovers as less likely to be influenced by title and rank; I found the idea of noble-hunters as distasteful as David did. Rush Sykes's famous disregard for rank had likely been a key point in his capturing of David's heart, in fact.

But I was merely a Duke, albeit an influential and prestigious one, and I chose people likely to ignore that. David had saved the world, and I had gone out of my way to ensure everyone knew of his valour. Who would not be influenced by the idea of bedding a hero?

"Ah."

"I will not hold lovers at arm's length as you do." He smiled wryly. "I admire your ability to do so. But for me -- no, I prefer to know they are not merely bedding my name."

"And you don't know anyone who'd disregard that?"

"Oh, I have friends who treat me as I am. But few of them stir my attention in that way."

I couldn't resist it. I leant across the table, and patted his arm. "You'll find someone, I assure you."

He smiled faintly, looking suddenly very weary. "Ah, we are grown maudlin; and it is late. Perhaps our mythical lovers can be postponed until the morning."

That was a clear enough dismissal that I did not tarry much longer. I wished our meeting had ended on a more cheerful note but I was glad for it nonetheless; it had been illuminating.

\---

He invited me to join him in the library the next evening and I accepted; I was by this point expecting more alcohol but was pleasantly amused to note that he offered me fruit juice.

"My apologies; I need my wits about me and I'm at risk of drinking them away of late."

I grinned, and accepted the juice gladly -- it would be good to attempt to converse without wine.

And we did; we pored over maps of our expeditions to the Western Isle together; exchanging what tales we had heard. Athlum's maps extended further to the north than Celapaleis's did, but had not ventured as far west; that led us into a discussion of shipbuilding and provisioning. In good humour, I offered to loan him one of my better ships in exchange for free access to Balterossa through their cave system. We haggled good-naturedly; if it turned into something more plausible, then we could open formal negotiations later on.

I did not stay late; David seemed to grow melancholy as the night wore on, and I did not wish to prompt him towards thoughts of loneliness again.

The next day, David called me to the audience chamber early in the morning. He apologised for not notifying me sooner, but Athlum Castle would only be providing a light supper that evening, and he would not be attending it. He had arranged for my retinue and I to dine at the house of a nobleman near the castle, so we would be only mildly inconvenienced.

Confused, my immediate instinct was to think he wished me to leave Athlum as a result of some insult I was unaware of. I nearly offered to leave, until he gave me a pained smile and said he hoped I didn't mind.

I gave a rote and entirely instinctive dismissal of any offense, turned to leave, and then nearly winced as I realised what the occasion was. It was the anniversary of the taking of the Valeria Heart.

Had I remembered, I would not have come to Athlum; I avoided this day, the dates that marked when David's parents had died and the anniversary of the end of the war, having long since decided that I did not wish to intrude on the memories such occasions would surely prompt.

I would apologise to David, when I next spoke to him. My dismissive comment had not been heartfelt, and it should have been.

I felt strangely wistful, during the day. I couldn't lay my finger on precisely why; I had barely known the General, and the Heart would have been lost at the end of the war in any event. I couldn't truly claim I mourned them. But I felt a sympathetic ache for David's sorrow. My own parents had died when I was very young and I had little memory of them to pin any love to, but David had to all intents been as attached to the General as to his own mother before that.

Feeling an urge to seek out what little family kinship I had, I visited the Warrior's Honor.

My brother drew me aside almost as soon as I entered, his face dark with concern.

"I know, I mistimed my visit. I will not intrude; I dine with Count Feraldi tonight."

"What? Oh, the memorial, yes, I'm sure." He peered at me, the concern unabated. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing? I am in fine health."

"You look miserable. Have you fought with Lord David?"

"No." His words sunk in. "Why would you think that the cause?"

Edmund waved a hand, and his expression grew arch. "Oh, honey, you are so deeply smitten with him."

"Nonsense."

"I know smitten when I see it. And more to the point, so does my friend Trevayne at the castle; he says you and the Marquis have grown very close." He nudged me. "So tell me, my dear, should I be jealous yet?"

"It's true we're closer than before, but I am afraid it is only friendship, disappointing though that must be for you." And perhaps for me too, I privately -- very, very privately -- admitted to myself.

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Oh, you silly boy. If I were 'friends' with him, I'd be proud of it."

"Yes, I'm sure you would be. But I fear, genuinely, I must disappoint you."

He pouted. "Then perhaps I shouldn't tell you that he gazes at you when your attention is elsewhere."

I fought down the thrill of delight that the thought provoked. "Your friend again? Tell him to stop maligning David's name, please."

"Fine, fine." Edmund waggled a finger at me. "But I tell you this, brother dear, you might just stand a chance. Don't waste it."

Before I could marshall a response, he had scampered off to attend his bar, and I could hardly argue with him in so public a place. I waved a farewell across the heads of some qsitis and left.

The dinner almost certainly deserved more attention than I gave it; the noble's daughters were as charming and sincere as any I'd ever met, and yet I couldn't bring myself to take my thoughts away from David.

My brother's words might have been empty teasing, but it had brought something into focus for me. Discarding my attachment to the old David had allowed the attraction I felt to the current David to come to the fore. The David of my youth was pure and strangely incorruptible in my mind; I could see us being comrades, but not lovers. The man he'd become now was subtly changed; more reserved, infinitely fascinating, and -- I had to admit it -- still possessed of enough magnetism to make me half-wish I could give him back his city all over again.

If he did indeed feel an attraction to me, and he could accept the restrictions we would have to impose on any relationship...

I chewed on the thought, even on my return to the castle.

I only snapped out of it when a polite rapping on my door presaged the door being opened. I stood to greet the interloper as they entered; a rather wide-eyed page stood there holding a folded note. It turned out to be from David, asking if I'd mind joining him and apologising for the lateness of the hour and excusing me in advance if I wished not to attend. All in all it seemed apparently rather hastily written -- I could not recall any prior message I'd received from David being quite so garbled.

Upon my arrival, however, David merely smiled calmly up at me from his table, pouring out two glasses of wine. The page who showed me in bowed politely and backed away, and I took a seat, utterly confused.

David held up his drink in a toast. "To those we have lost."

I took my glass, and raised it silently before drinking, watching him closely. His eyes looked a little over-bright, and I wondered if he'd been weeping earlier.

After a moment's silence, I set down my glass. "Did you want to talk?"

"Ah, yes. I apologise for disturbing you."

"Nonsense, I hear friends are permitted to impose occasionally. I'm curious, though; were you not with your generals tonight?"

He smiled, and again his smile seemed sort of wan. "Almost all of my friends knew Emma so well; I had a sudden urge to talk to someone who did not."

I didn't understand his logic, but I nodded nonetheless.

"Please, talk to me of something other than loss. Anything else; how was your dinner?"

"Oh, entertaining enough. The Feraldi daughters are as lovely as reputed."

"Indeed? Do we have contenders to be your Duchess, finally?"

I shook my head. "Alas, I fear not."

He sighed, and made an exaggeratedly disappointed face at me, then picked up his drink again.

I tilted my glass to assess the level of wine in it, and frowned. "Were you not intending to forgo wine? Toasts aside, I do not think it is a good idea for you to drink tonight."

"Ah." He flushed a little. "You may be right."

I took the wine glasses and tipped the contents out of his window, and found the water jug on his nightstand instead. "There."

"My thanks. This is strange, you know. This is not a friendship I would have imagined, even a short year ago."

I resettled myself; our chairs sat at right-angles to one another, allowing both of us the comfort of being able to look away from the conversation if it grew awkward. "Nor, perhaps, I. But I value it, for all that; I am glad you thought to ask for my company."

We sipped our water; I was acutely aware that we had both taken to hiding moments of uncertainty with such gestures.

"So why are the count's daughters not suitable?"

"Ah, they might well be, were I to investigate further. But I fear I have resolved to take your advice on the matter of such things."

He looked startled. "Which advice?"

"To reassess the likeliest candidate available."

"Does this mean you are likely to pursue your one possible nobleman?"

I smiled at him. "If he'll accept that I can't offer much more than a casual relationship for now. He is hard to fathom, though. I truly cannot tell if he would be interested in me."

David looked dismissive. "If his tastes run to men at all, I can't see why not."

I felt a blush creep up my face; honestly, it was the blandest of compliments, and I was reacting like a virgin. "Well, so you say. But your tastes may not be universal."

"Ah, yes. Because young, handsome and wealthy is a grouping of attributes that repulses so many."

"Such flattery, David. You will turn a boy's head if you continue."

He laughed. "Ah, I hardly think so. I am a decade your senior, after all."

"You are seven years my senior at most. I do not doubt you could turn my head were you a decade older again." I meant that; I'd slept with one woman at least that much older than myself, and a man nearly as old as that. And I could not see David aging ungracefully; he'd still be desirable into his twilight years, as far as I could tell.

"I.. well, thank you, but..." he seemed to cast around for a joking way to deflect the comment, and said, "you are pursuing your nobleman, remember?"

I shrugged. "I am, yes."

He nodded, and visibly relaxed. "Perhaps I should take your advice in return, and take up casual lovers instead."

"Ah. You'd consider that?"

"I might, if a suitable prospect were presented."

I was half-convinced he understood my intentions; if so, I could have no better invitation to kiss him. I resisted the urge, however; he'd deflected my direct compliment, and I didn't wish to misinterpret idle banter.

"Alas, though, it might be a while -- I fear I am out of practise at flirtation."

I laughed. "Tell them they're young and handsome; I am scarcely the only person who would respond to such comments."

He gave me an odd look. "I suppose so."

Surely that was an unremarkable comment. "Unless they're patently untrue, that is. Is there a ugly old man you're wishing to seduce?"

"No, no." He smiled, suddenly. "Unlike you, I've nobody particular in mind."

I drank my water, masking my sudden feeling of faint disappointment. So much for hoping our conversation so far had been veiled flirtation.

"Which is probably just as well; your young man sounds rather intriguing and we'd doubtless be competing if I knew him."

I tried not to smirk. "Perhaps. I'm too fond of you to fight over a lover, though. Besides, you're prettier than I."

"Hah. You're better with pretty words of flattery than I."

I couldn't help but notice the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks, despite his dismissive tone. Interesting. "I was serious, though I grant that these things are rarely objective. But perhaps I merely favour blonds."

"Should I assume your nobleman is such, then?"

"No guessing games, David. I'll tell you who he is if he accepts my suit, not before."

He sighed. "And you vex my curiosity, once again."

"Indeed." I stretched, amused. "I can't always indulge you, after all."

I was watching him very carefully now. His eyes flickered down my torso as I stretched, for just long enough to confirm my suspicion. Whatever disappointment I'd felt vanished, replaced with a sudden certainty that my brother was right. There was certain a physical attraction behind that glance.

"Ah well. I suppose I'll live." His smile had returned, easy and amused.

I would have to be careful not to presume too much. Being attracted enough to look was one thing, but it didn't mean he wished to pursue it. This needed delicate handling.

Except that I was weary of second-guessing everything. I was weary of waiting for confirmation, for hints, for the right moment; I wanted to act.

"Suddenly I find myself wishing I hadn't poured that wine away."

He blinked at me in confusion. "Why so?"

"Because then I might have the boldness I lack."

He tipped his head to one side, the confusion still foremost in his expression. "Boldness? When have _you_ ever lacked for boldness?"

"You think too much of me, I'm afraid. I am less bold than I would like around you."

"Are you afraid of offending me?"

"Not precisely."

"So why not merely say whatever it is that you want to say?"

I gave in to my impatience, leaned forward, and kissed him directly on the mouth. He nearly yielded, his lips pliant and responsive for a fraction of a second, before he recoiled as if slapped.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Not at all," I said, my mind racing with sudden panic. "Do I repulse you?"

He scowled. "No, of course not."

"And do you not trust me?"

"Trust isn't the issue here."

"This... it need only be as complicated as we wish it to be."

I raised a hand to cup his cheek, and he snorted and yanked his head back. "I don't take kindly to being toyed with; you've only just left off speaking of your interest in another man."

"No. I want you, my _noble_ friend; have you not been listening?"

He blinked, his scowl softening somewhat. I leant forward to touch his face again, and he did not flinch.

"This is foolishness, my Lord," he said, his voice low.

"No, David, foolishness would be to keep calling me by that title."

"You are too reckless about this."

"And you are not reckless enough. I do not seek love from you, merely passion. Will you give me that?"

He kissed me then, as if to test my notion, slow and deep. His recent lack of practise was perhaps a little in evidence; our tongues clashing awkwardly, but I felt a familiar heat build in my belly nonetheless.

I pulled away from the kiss and moved my mouth to instead press a soft kiss on the junction of his jaw and his neck. He froze, and I paused -- if he refused me now, so be it.

He grasped my jaw with one hand, and turned my head towards him, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"And what of the consequences?"

"Such concerns are for the morning after, David."

"So reckless," he muttered again, as if to himself, and then I felt his smile as he kissed me again.

\---

I woke unaccustomedly early, with the slightly strange sensation of a warm foot pressed against my leg. My immediate thought was to wonder if my bedpartner would leave my room of their own accord, or if they were one of the few who lingered until I shooed them out. Then I opened my eyes and realised these were not my own rooms. Perhaps I would have to be the one to leave discreetly.

And only then did I recall precisely whose rooms I was in, and whose bed I was in, and therefore to whom the foot against my leg belonged.

I turned and sat up, cautiously -- not wishing to wake him -- to confirm my memory. The Marquis of Athlum lay beside me, curled away from me under the sheet, with his head pillowed on his arm. His long hair was loose -- I vaguely recalled untying it to glory in it more fully -- and covered his face, but he appeared to be genuinely asleep despite my movements.

I stared at him, assessing how I felt about this.

This was David Nassau of Athlum, and no matter how long ago the Dissipation had been and how different he was now -- and how he would object to the sentiment -- the shred I had left of hero-worship for him gave me a warm glow of smugness about the matter. And then again, this was David Nassau of Athlum, and that was politically unfortunate for a whole host of reasons. And this was David, my friend, and this was rather more intimacy than mere friendship would tolerate.

But damn, I couldn't find it in me to regret anything about it, and I truly hoped he felt similarly.

He stirred a little. I thought he might wake, and steeled myself for the conversation that would ensue, but instead he merely scrubbed his hair away from his face impatiently and dropped his arm back where it had been.

It occurred to me that I could take this opportunity to admire him, as I rarely had the chance to do so openly. His long hair spilled across the sheet, only slightly tangled -- his motion had successfully brushed it from his face -- and there was a striking contrast between his fair hair and tan skin. His shoulders were not overly broad, but had a pleasant amount of musculature to them; he had more strength than I would have expected. His back tapered down to a slim waist; anything further below was concealed under the sheets, but my memories informed me that I'd not been disappointed.

I transferred my inspection to his face, trying to be as objective about it as I could be. His lips and eyelashes were both still as lush as a youth's; his cheeks were slightly flushed with sleep. With his hair down, he would have looked quite feminine had it not been for the strength of his jaw and the stubble that was barely visible along it. His face had hardened a little since I'd first known him, and he'd acquired some creases along his brow; still, these were softened and smoothed by sleep, and it would have been hard to place his age accurately.

I repressed a sigh; I knew I could be considered handsome -- even David had said as much -- and I did not exactly lack for compliments from my lovers, but David was actually beautiful.

After the briefest of considerations, I lay back down, and gingerly placed an arm across his shoulders.

You should not think this was out of some misplaced sentimentality or optimism; we had discussed our responsibilities enough that I rather expected him to insist this never occur again. But the man had not taken more than a small handful of lovers in years, and it might be pleasant for him to wake with arms around him for once. Besides, it was a dark hour, and I was not entirely sure I could find my way back to my rooms unaided.

The next time I awoke, it was because the body in my arms had moved unexpectedly. David was awake, had startled at finding company in his bed, and was staring at me in consternation.

"Good morning," I said, lightly.

"And to you," he said, his response apparently habitual despite the frown he wore.

I stretched under the sheet, feigning nonchalance. "What hour is it?"

"A mark or so past sunrise, I think." He sat up cautiously, but seemed to be relaxing a little, as if my unruffled reaction was soothing him. "Did you... did you sleep well?"

I grinned. "I slept very well. Your bed is comfortable, and you do not snore."

He glared at me, then flopped back down onto the pillow with a groan. "I'm wholly reassured, thank you."

I reached across the newly-opened gap between us, and placed a hand on his arm. "This need not be so awkward. Last night was wonderful, David, but it was a matter for our bodies, not our hearts. We can remain friends, I assure you."

He glanced at my hand. "I've heard that words like that do not always translate into reality."

"You and I are exceptional, however." He pulled a face, and I laughed, patting him gently. "Peace, David. If we both wish for it to happen again, so be it. In the meantime, we can dispense with love notes and promises of eternity."

David gave me a searching look, and then nodded slowly. "Very well. I have one request, however?"

"Ask away."

"Kindly keep any comments or observations to yourself while I get dressed."

I laughed. "Very well. I'll even keep my eyes closed if you insist."

He threw back the sheet with a snort.

\---

For the rest of my visit -- which I did not abbreviate -- I was careful not to do anything that David might construe as overt flirting; I would hardly have objected to sharing his bed again, but that would not have jibed well with my comment about friendship being the priority. Besides, I wished to ensure he was truly under no illusions of romance. I had no intention of breaking David's heart.

And I felt a little guilty, truth be told. He'd been miserable at the beginning of the evening, and while I was reasonably certain that it hadn't made him more vulnerable to my advances than he would have been normally, it felt a little as if I had taken advantage.

We had another private dinner, the evening before I was to return to Celapaleis. I'd been a little wary of the offer; there were several ways in which he might have felt obliged to make it, and I was rather afraid he might wish to indulge in some sort of soul-searching. It was somewhat of a relief, then, when he offered me tea to accompany it rather than anything alcoholic.

He poured it himself, and contemplated me as he did so.

"You have my thanks," he said, after a moment.

"Of that I'm certain." I took the proffered tea, and added honey carefully. As if it were an afterthought--I've mentioned my penchant for theatrics, I'm sure -- I added, "for what, precisely?"

He tilted his head to one side. "For your company recently, amongst other things. It has been pleasant."

I nodded, as regally as I could. "Indeed."

We both drank, and I wondered if at least mild flirtation would be permissible; it was becoming hard to hold my tongue against my natural inclination to compliment the man.

David coughed. "You are being uncharacteristically quiet. What is wrong?"

"Nothing," I replied. He looked dubious, and I smiled. "Genuinely, I am fine. You worry too much."

"We have not talked of that night," he said, hesitantly.

"No, we have not," I admitted, and looked down into my cup to conceal my sigh. "Was there something specific that needed to be talked over? We both found pleasure in it."

I heard him make a noise that I can only describe as hmmm, before he said thoughtfully, "You've been careful to avoid the subject, is all. Are you afraid I'll flee like a frightened maiden if you mention it?"

I lifted my eyes to meet his amused ones, and smiled. "I was concerned that you might be regretting it."

"Hardly," he said, much to my relief. "I do not think that we should exactly make a habit of it, however."

I sighed dramatically. "Ah, to be rejected so cruelly."

He sipped at his tea. "If you regard a suggestion at moderacy as a rejection, I'd be fascinated to see what your reaction would have been had I actually refused your advances."

I waved a hand dismissively. "Tantrums, shrieks, tears. The usual."

He laughed. "Much the same as your reaction to a loss at chess, then."

"Yes, that sounds about right."

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "I'm flattered to be valued so highly."

"You should be. I'm very proud of my chess skills."

He laughed, and that seemed to dispel the remaining lingering awkwardness. I wondered if the conversation would lead us back into bed that night -- if it did, I would hardly have objected -- but it did not.

He did bow over my hand and press a kiss to the back of it before I left his rooms, with a smile that somehow negated any serious intent from the gesture.

I repaid the gesture by dropping to one knee in a formal farewell the next morning; he rolled his eyes in amused horror and bid me safe return.

\---

I didn't see David until the next Congress session was called. Some pockets of resistance near Veyriel were worrying the Eastern Lords, and they wished to muster the largest force possible to suppress the uprising.

I was in a snitty mood even before the session started. My chamberlain had finally retired, and his replacement was barely adequate. My prime minister had appointed him, and I'd had little say in the matter. He'd managed to confuse my staff entirely by redrawing and restructuring the budgets for everything three times in his first week, and he'd forgotten a number of minor tasks that had resulted in my needing to step in and soothe ruffled tempers all around.

Compounding this was that the other Lords all seemed to be in favour of every proposal raised to suppress Veyriel, no matter how unpractical. For the life of me I cannot recall what aspect we were arguing over -- troop deployment, I think -- but I recall that my point was wholly pragmatic and that not one of the other Lords of the Congress could see the value in it for some reason.

I was launching into an impassioned, well-constructed and perhaps slightly shrill-toned argument when David, under cover of the table, placed his hand lightly on my thigh.

I stuttered in surprise, but would almost certainly have continued with my point had he not then murmured under his breath the words, 'peace now, Robert'.

Hardly anyone had called me by my true name in almost fifteen years. Even pronounced in David's particular accent -- which rendered the last letter silent, and which weighted the syllables oddly to my ear -- it was startling to hear. I'd not even been certain David recalled what my first name was.

Ghor regarded us suspiciously; he couldn't see the hand -- nor could anyone else, thankfully -- and I'm certain he couldn't have heard what David had said, only that whatever it was had halted my argument entirely. He seemed to dismiss any questions in favour of interpreting my sudden silence as capitulation.

"Should I assume you have no further objections?" he asked, and I felt David's hand squeeze as if pleading with me to agree, "If so, let's move on."

David removed his hand as I nodded in defeat, and I managed to regain my tongue in time to contribute saliently -- though less sharply -- to the remainder of the meeting.

As we left, David fell into step on my left side. He was looking altogether too innocent for my taste.

"That was entirely unfair," I hissed at him.

"I freely admit that. But we shall discuss my reasons in private, if you must."

I handed my notes to a page, and followed David to his quarters.

\---

His rooms were a mirror of mine; spacious and sparsely appointed. He gestured me to a seat.

I shook my head, still angry. "David, I do not appreciate being made a fool of."

"But you'd rather be overruled than swayed? We need to show a united front, and you insist on dissenting at every moment."

"The voice of reason, as I see it."

He sighed, and waved at the seat again. "You're more contrary than usual, and you were being ridiculously stubborn. Are you so determined to pick a fight with every Lord in the Congress? Do you wish to test our collective patience to breaking point? You risk throwing away a lot of good will over nothing."

I was shocked into admitting that he might have a point. I'd been itching for a fight, and this was not the arena to indulge that. If I continued as I was, I risked seriously damaging the relationships I'd built up; calm and reasoned counter-arguments were one thing, but I suspected that I'd been on the brink of irrational ranting. For David to have to point that out was mortifying, however.

David watched me think for a moment, and then grabbed my wrists and hauled me over to the couch. He pushed me backwards so I was forced to sit or fall unceremoniously backwards. Surprised, I sat.

He didn't release my wrists, but knelt in front of me. "Listen to me. I'm worried about you. Isn't that what friends are supposed to do?"

I nodded, startled into meekness. "Yes."

He shook my wrists gently, to emphasise his words. "Now, will you explain yourself? Whatever is wrong, I will help you if I can."

I swallowed, my mouth gone suddenly dry. I was hardly some innocent maid to swoon over a simple touch, but David's grip and proximity were stirring vivid memories -- he'd held my wrists like this, preventing me from clutching at his hips to hasten his movements. I'd cursed him for being such a tease.

He glanced down, as if struck by the same recollections.

Without pulling away from his grip, I shifted backwards slightly on my chair. "That was an underhanded way to stop me."

His smile was wry. "Agreed."

"I won't be so easily distracted next time." Or rather, I would be hideously distracted by the very idea that he might, and he wouldn't have to do a thing. Damn him.

"I imagine not." He released my wrists, and reached one hand up to smooth the hair back from my temple. The touch felt like a question, and I held my breath.

He spoke his next words very softly, his fingers gently tracing down the side of my face. "Might I be permitted to make amends somehow?"

I would have defied anyone to refuse such a request.

After a few minutes of indulgently slow kisses, he pulled away abruptly and stood up. I was too startled to prevent myself from making a faint groan of protest.

"The dinner -- our absence will be noted if we do not attend."

"Ah? There is still quite some time before we will be expected." I knew I was pouting; I didn't particularly care. It would take more than a kiss to apologise for his actions; surely he did not think us even yet?

"We can return after we've eaten." He tilted his head to one side in that thoughtful fashion, "I'd rather not be disturbed, and it's likely we'll have more leisure later."

"Very well," I said, allowing regret -- and anticipation -- to tinge my words. "Shall I return here later, then?"

David nodded, and I leaned in for the brief kiss he willingly allowed me to claim before we rejoined our peers.

\---

We walked back together to David's rooms, at a leisurely pace, after the meal. The dinner conversation had been surprisingly convivial. My mood had been, admittedly, buoyed significantly by the promise of bedding David again, but the other Lords were making an effort to divert their minds from the potential conflicts ahead, and I'd even found Ghor's conversation rather tolerable.

David opened the door with a flourish, and then occupied himself with lighting the lamps. A servant had banked the fires already; we'd have no further interruptions that evening.

I crossed to his balcony doors; he had a fine view across Elysion's rooftops, and the moon bathed the city in a familiar silvery light.

David stood behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist with careful casualness, propping his chin on my shoulder to admire the view with me.

"It looks almost as it did when Elysion was still here," he said softly.

I nodded, and turned in his arms. He regarded me for a second, and then pulled me closer.

As we kissed, I reached up and pulled away the tie that held his hair back, allowing his hair to fall freely. I threaded my fingers into it gleefully; there was something very satisfying about the weight and texture of it.

He stopped, and gave me an amused look. "My hair holds some particular fascination for you, doesn't it?"

"And if it does?"

"Then perhaps I shall try and remember that." He smiled, and tugged at my hair -- not as long as his, but still long enough to fall past my shoulders. "Is that why you grew yours?"

"To emulate you? No. Because I like long hair? Yes." I kissed him again, and felt the laughter bubbling up through him as I did so. "What?"

"Nothing, merely a thought." He smiled very fondly at me, and I felt that warmth flooding through me again.

I pulled him towards the bedchamber eagerly.

This time, our intimacy felt fonder, more exploratory. He discovered that I would wriggle like a trapped qsiti if tickled in the correct spots on my sides -- and his hair was a perfect tool for tickling those spots -- and I discovered that he shivered splendidly at the sensation of kisses placed along his arms.

We had to contend with my knee, alas; some combination of weight and force made it give way at an unfortunate point, and I had to hastily assure David that I did not need to be taken to a healer right there and then. His concern was touching, but it was easy enough to shift ourselves into a position where my knee was irrelevant.

Some time later, I laid an affectionate kiss on the crown of David's head and slid out of bed to get dressed.

David watched me attempt to locate my smallclothes.

"Are you returning to your own quarters?" he asked, his expression unreadable.

"Yes?"

He frowned, very slightly, as I began to dress. "Ah. I... somehow hoped you might remain here, tonight."

Oh. After our previous encounter, that could be considered a reasonable assumption. "The servants here have no personal loyalties to keep them discreet, David. And if I'm observed leaving here in the morning..."

He sighed, and sat up. "Of course. My apologies for asking."

I sat back down on the bed, and leaned over to kiss him again -- and he allowed me to do so, albeit rather passively -- and then tangled my fingers in his hair. "I wish I could."

Worryingly, I meant that. Which was another reason for me to leave; indulging such whims was risky. I dared not allow myself to start becoming romantic or possessive about David.

He pouted very appealingly, but nodded and slipped out of bed also. I watched as he -- with apparent disregard for his nudity -- found himself a comb from somewhere, and settled down on the edge of the bed to comb his hair out. There were a few knots, probably as a result of my attentions, and he winced as he attempted to yank the comb through them.

He'd certainly learned how to exploit his weapons to unfair advantage. I felt my objections fade.

I sighed, dropped the shirt I'd found, and plucked the comb from his fingers, kneeling behind him on the bed to take over the task. He seemed a little startled -- possibly he'd genuinely not expected me to be won over so easily -- but he did not protest.

"I will have to leave early," I said warningly. "There are papers I must collect from my quarters before the meeting tomorrow."

His eyes were half-closed; he seemed to be enjoying my ministrations. "If you're seen leaving, I'm certain you're capable of thinking of reasons to have been here."

"I was more concerned about avoiding suspicion in the first place."

He made a dismissive noise, and shifted his weight as if expecting me to be done. I pushed him back down with one hand, focused on trying to unknot a snarl I'd found.

"Nobody has combed my hair for me since I was a child," he said after a while.

"Is that so?" I said, distractedly. "You'd think you'd be better at getting the knots out yourself, then."

"There aren't usually such knots."

I snorted, and finally pulled the comb through the full length of his hair from root to tip a few times, admiring the shine of it in the lamplight. "Are you not enjoying this, then?"

"I... yes, very well, it's rather soothing." He tipped his head back, as I tossed the comb to one side. "Are you done, then?"

I kissed him gently in answer, then crawled back up to my place in the bed. A realisation struck me as I re-shed the few clothes I'd pulled on.

"David," I said casually, as if it were of no great import, "how do you think of me?"

He got into the bed next to me. "Currently? As a man who confuses me regularly."

"No, I mean, what name do you refer to me with? In your own thoughts?"

His expression shuttered a little, though he did his best to look unflustered. "As Qubine."

I was a little disappointed, though not surprised. If the circumstances of our youth had been reversed, I'd probably have become entirely accustomed to calling him Nassau. "Would you consider using my true name?"

"Robert," he said softly, as if testing the sound of it, and then shook his head. "It would be strange to become used to that. But it seems fair to try."


	3. Chapter 3

I visited Athlum several times over the next few months, with much the same frequency as I had before. David and I were amicable in public, but not significantly more so than before. The main difference was that I spent a few nights in David's bed during each visit. He would invite me for drinks, or for dinner, and somehow we would naturally progress from conversation to flirting to kissing. Despite my best intentions, I couldn't resist the very lover-ish urge to comb David's hair on several occasions, nor could I bring myself to partake of his company and then return to my own chambers. Our conversations did not stray into sentimentality, however, and on the whole I was rather pleased with the arrangement.

It was only when David finally accepted my repeated invitations and agreed to visit Celapaleis that I admitted that I'd become rather more infatuated than I should have.

His visit had to be a formal, state occasion -- he visited Celapaleis infrequently these days, and as a hero to my people, it was necessary for me to make a fuss over the event. While this did also hold a certain level of amusement for me, it meant that almost his every waking moment was scheduled.

His visit was to last for ten days. On the first evening, he retired early; I couldn't tell if the act was intended to be an invitation, but I felt it would bespeak too much eagerness on my part to join him in his chambers so early in his visit. Besides, my seneschal had placed David and his generals in one large suite of interconnecting rooms -- there'd been little legitimate reason I could insist otherwise -- and we would have been afforded little privacy there.

In fact, we were afforded no privacy at all. He did not attempt to visit my rooms; perhaps it was difficult to escape his retinue. We took meals together, but always in company. By the evening of the fifth day, I was fighting a distinct urge to either sink into a sulk or to actually take a hold of his collar and drag him off, neither of which would have been particularly discreet or appropriate. He seemed to be blithely unaffected by the circumstances, by contrast. While this was objectively a good thing, I couldn't help but feel a little irritated. Being in such proximity without any promise of contact was... frustrating.

At dinner that night I happened to be seated to his left. I pressed my knee against his under the table, unwilling to risk being caught in a more blatant act. I was relieved to feel him push back with equal force; any acknowledgement of a connection between us was soothing.

I still felt obscurely insulted by his apparent ease with the situation, as the next couple of days were similarly devoid of opportunity.

And then we were temporarily left unchaperoned, walking from one scheduled event in the main audience chamber to the stables. My advisors had stayed behind; his retinue had gone ahead. I cleared my throat, about to offer some light comment on how unfortunate it was that our schedules had been so busy, when David opened a door on one side and pulled me into a side room.

It was a small storeroom; thankfully devoid of any servants. David shut the door firmly and pulled me into his arms with a fierceness that belied his earlier calm. I kissed him greedily, threading my hands through the layers he wore until I was able to place a hand on his skin, flat against his abdomen. He made a delightful noise at the contact; hungry and wanton.

Footsteps in the corridor outside startled us apart after a few blissful minutes. David's expression was rueful.

"You have made me very foolish indeed," he said, with a sigh. "Do you realise I have barely thought of anything except how to find the chance to kiss you for the past few days?"

"I, too," I admitted. The evidence of my desire was pressing hard into his hip; I ached with need, and had to fight the urge to kiss him again. "Will you come to my rooms tonight?"

He laughed softly. "I'll find a way. All these appointments are somewhat of a hindrance."

"I was swamped with requests that you attend various functions; even as it was I had to decline a number of invitations on your behalf. Your visits delight my people; am I to refuse them all?"

I spoke lightly, but there was some bitterness to my words; I couldn't help but feel that David might perhaps be more popular amongst my people than I was, and no Lord likes to feel that he is second-best to his people.

He shook his head, and kissed me gently. "No, I would do the same. In fact, as I was recently scolded for the lack; your next visit will I fear require some state duties."

"Scolded? Who would scold the Lord of Athlum?"

"Lady Meadowcroft."

The name was horribly familiar; the woman was intent on finding husbands for her several daughters and used court events as her hunting grounds. I winced at the idea of an evening being pursued as a match for her ill-favoured offspring.

"My apologies, but she has a point; my generals also observed recently that not all your visits can be informal."

I sighed, and withdrew from his arms. "Well, at least that thought has cooled my immediate ardour."

He chuckled, and straightened his clothing. We headed onwards towards the stables, and then to the theatre performance we were obliged to attend.

The play was mediocre, and my thought kept drifting towards the evening's promise; David's presence in the seat next to mine was a pleasant torment, though we did not so much as brush elbows. The dinner afterwards was politely dull, as per the norm, and was followed with dancing. I directed endless amounts of attentiveness and flattery towards a wonderful old dame I knew, who could be relied upon to feign outrage at the idea that I would speak fine words and then abandon her side to dance with others. I made a private note to send her some of the finest wine I could obtain as a thank-you.

David had no such refuge, and I watched him waltz around with a succession of fluttering nitwits. He was worth watching; my companion made a few appreciative observations of her own on his grace. I did not, however, give in to the mischievous urge I felt to capture him for a dance myself; it would not have broken that much protocol for me to do so, but it would have made people talk, and speculation would make it harder for us to be unobserved.

\---

It was nearing midnight when my guard apologetically informed me that the Marquis of Athlum was requesting to see me. I had them usher David in, and he stood just inside the door as it closed behind him.

He looked rather irritated, and for a moment I was struck with irrational fears. Had I done something that that he might be angry about? Had he been annoyed that I'd left him to dance with the women of Celapaleis?

"Tell me, do you really feel so at risk from my presence?"

I blinked. "At risk?"

"You can hardly think my people or I would allow harm to befall you. And yet there are guards posted at every turn. Are you so fearful that we might turn on you?"

I masked my smirk, realising his ploy. "Don't be absurd, David. These guards are always here; it has nothing to do with your presence."

"I find that hard to believe. Or do you not trust your own people either?"

I sighed, theatrically. "Fine, fine. My advisors will throw a fit."

I pushed the door open again -- my guards had clearly been listening, but did an adequate job of pretending otherwise.

"As my lord marquis seems insulted by your presence, I'm dismissing you both for now. And please pass the news on around the guardhouse; as a gesture of trust towards the Marquis, there are to be no guards when he visits me."

They nodded, saluted, and trotted off neatly.

I closed the door, and raised an eyebrow at David, who looked rather smug.

"Well, now my guards will think you're paranoid. And there'll be new guards by the morning."

"We'll think of something."

"I agree." I looked towards my bedchamber meaningfully. "Right now, I have other priorities to occupy my thoughts."

It worried me, as we lay together later on, my fingers gently combing through David's hair as he made a pillow of my shoulder. He'd been right; this had been a dangerous course to pursue. I had no true idea of how he felt about me. He'd longed for my kiss; that was flattering and comforting, and I understood physical desire well -- I'd encouraged him to indulge in the pursuit of it, even. But I hadn't merely longed for the physical side of things; I'd missed the gentle comfort of lying in his arms, of feeling his weight in the bed next to me, of the easy conversations that followed. I'd found myself wanting to share observations with him, to see his eyes glint with amusement or pleasure.

I was, in short, in real danger of falling in love with the man, and that was deeply unfortunate even if he felt the same. Our situation could surely not support a romantic bond in the long-term; even in the short term it could lead to problems politically and diplomatically. I couldn't let this continue.

And I couldn't bring myself to curtail it.

David curled an arm around me. "Are you alright?"

"Merely thoughtful, I assure you." I kissed him on the side of the head. "Don't concern yourself."

\---

I knew Athlum Castle rather well by now.

Getting in unobserved was a little tricky, but not terribly so; in nondescript clothing I was just familiar enough for the staff to think I was someone they knew, and I passed by the guards at the service side as a delivery boy. Once inside, I located a storeroom and found a pageboy outfit in my size, tucking my hair underneath the cap -- hiding it made me far less identifiable, and I was slim enough to pass as a page -- a tall one, admittedly, but still.

I readied the message I had prepared, and set off for the audience chamber.

I ran the last few steps, as if rushing with my important task. A guard stopped me at the entrance; behind him I could see David sitting patiently on his throne, watching as his generals discussed some local dignitary or other.

"Milord, a message from Duke Qubine has arrived."

General Torgal beckoned me towards the throne, and I walked towards him. As I approached, I saw David blink and look at me more closely.

I'd rather counted on him recognising me; my main concern was in fooling his generals. I looked down, trying to conceal my features as much as possible.

"Your message, my Lord," I said, pitching my voice in a higher, more youthful register.

He took it, his lips curved in a disbelieving smile. "My thanks."

I bowed, and backed away from the throne. I went to stand to one side of the chamber, where I'd occasionally seen pages linger before; they were always useful to keep around, and it wouldn't be implausible for one to have been instructed to stay there until needed. I'd timed my message for very late in the day in any event; that way I would not have to wait too long for the audience session to conclude.

Without another glance in my direction, David opened the scroll and scanned the message. "Lord Qubine informs me that he has been unavoidably detained; he will arrive tomorrow. He sends profuse apologies."

General Blocter made a rather annoyed noise. "Aw man, and the cook was gonna make roast urracco too. Damned change of plans."

"Peace, Blocter, it was polite of him to inform us."

He grumbled, but fell silent at a look from General Pagus.

"My Lord," said General Torgal, "do we need to reschedule anything?"

"No, I believe not; he warned me that there might be delays in his arrival."

"Ah."

David raised an eyebrow. "Is there further comment you wish to make?"

"No, my Lord."

"I see."

Lady -- ah, my apologies, _General_ \-- Honeywell laughed. "Perhaps it has just occurred to Torgal that Lord Qubine and the Sykes may be arriving at around the same time."

I kept my face impassive, fighting a frown. The Sykes would be visiting? I supposed that they must have been invited to the Grand Ball that was being thrown.

David's face, by contrast, lit up. "So early? I had thought they would be arriving in a couple of days."

"No, Marina sent word this morning. It will be good to see them again."

"I fully agree." David sat back in his chair, looking truly rather delighted. "Although I suspect I may have to assign one of you to protect Irina from some of the young noblemen."

General Honeywell laughed, and sounded so like her predecessor that I blinked. "She can take care of herself. I'm more concerned for you, my Lord, what with those vultures."

David smirked, and flicked his gaze towards where I stood. "I plan on using Lord Qubine as a shield, frankly."

I did my best not to smile.

They talked genially amongst themselves for the half-a-mark left in the session schedule; the conversation was light and inconsequential. I did my best not to shift too much, though I'd overestimated how easy it was for pages to stand around unobtrusively.

At length, David stood up. "I think we can conclude for the day."

The generals saluted in one smooth, co-ordinated movement -- something I'd long envied, actually. "Yes, my Lord."

David picked up his pile of papers from next to the throne and approached me. His expression was masterful; he displayed only faint recognition, I held out my arms smartly as he deposited his papers in them. "Please take these up to my chambers for me."

I nodded, keeping my expression polite. "Yes, my Lord."

He hesitated for a moment, then turned and strode away.

I had to wait for nearly a mark in David's chambers. When he arrived, I was glad to see that he'd brought with him a tray of food -- he must have excused himself from attending dinner, which meant a good chance I would have him to myself for the evening.

He grinned widely when he saw me, and shut the door firmly behind him. "I can't fathom what inspired this particular ruse, but I am glad to see you."

I bowed as he set the tray down. "I thought it might make a change for you to not have to worry about the Duke of Qubine being seen in your rooms."

"Instead, I must worry that people will think I am seducing my own pageboys?"

I began unbuttoning the uniform, watching his eyes follow the movement. "No, merely that they are seducing you."

"Oh yes. A far better prospect."

\---

We shared the food on his tray later, clad only in night robes, and at some point it struck me; I had snuck into my lover's home to be with him, and I was enjoying sharing a simple meal with him almost as much as I'd enjoyed tumbling him into bed.

David saw the shadow cross my face. "You have that look about you again. What's troubling you?"

I sighed. "Us," I admitted.

He leant forward over the table, taking one of my hands in his. "Finally. I am surprised it has taken so long for you to have doubts."

I stared at our joined hands. "Likely you know the direction of my thoughts about it."

"I suspect so. You think we've grown too fond, correct?"

"You don't agree?"

His expression was hard to read, but he looked as if he were considering his words carefully. "I have welcomed our involvement; it's given me more joy than I've felt than in several years."

"I'm glad. And I would not take back the past few months."

"But you wish it to come to an end?"

Of course I didn't. "I fear I'll make a liar of myself, if not. I promised not to seek your heart, after all."

He pulled my hand towards his lips, kissed it, and looked up at me through his lashes. "And if I admitted that you already had it, at least in part?"

I swallowed to clear the tightness that had suddenly constricted my throat. "Don't be absurd. It's not as if we can have some grand romance; our duties conflict too much."

"You told me once that we were exceptional." He squeezed my hand lightly. "As yet, there has been no conflict. If duty becomes an issue, we can find a way to resolve it."

I closed my eyes for a moment. This was madness, but compelling madness.

"So where does that leave us?" I asked, softly.

"I will not mislead you: I do not think I am in love with you, not quite."

That, perversely, made me smile. "Nor I you. Yet."

"So, that is where we are. Not yet in love, but I think on a path towards it." He stood up, and I followed, unwilling to pull my hand from his. "And I do not wish to be afraid of love."

The words rang oddly in my ears, and I stared at him, feeling insulted. "I have no fear of love."

"You told me you kept your lovers distant, that you chose them because they would leave you without argument."

"I meant--" What had I meant? It hardly sounded like I had welcomed love, when put like that. "Hmm. I'm a cold fool, then?"

"No, you aren't. But I thought you wished to find someone who you wanted for more than an occasional tumble."

"Indeed." He had stepped closer to me, and I itched to reach out and grab hold of him somehow. "And I do."

"The choice is still yours, however. Either we continue as we have, or we do not."

"And if we continue?"

"If love blossoms between us, then one day we will cause quite the scandal. Until then, need anything change?"

"David, you will not be able to keep from marriage forever. You need heirs."

He gaped at me in surprise. "That's still your concern? Contingency plans were laid down a long time ago. Or did you think Rush would have borne my children?"

No wonder he'd been so damned casual about the issue. But I was rather offended that I'd never been informed. "What sort of plans?"

"Is it relevant? There are candidates; not blood relatives but likely acceptable to my people nonetheless."

"So why suffer the marriage market?"

"You have other options too; why have you tolerated it? For the same reasons: It's politic to do so, and I hadn't quite given up hope."

"I--well, that's infuriating."

He laughed. "Ah, finally. Now you know how I feel about you, half the time."

I gave into the rising glee I felt, and kissed him, nearly knocking him off-balance. When we broke for air, he was grinning widely. "Am I to assume that this is your choice, then?"

"It is. I do not think we can become too bold..."

He shrugged. "I agree; however, I think it acceptable for us to be visibly friends. Close friends."

That was a good idea; it would help to mitigate the shock value of any future revelations about our relationship. "Certainly."

When I awoke the next morning, I was struck with the strange realisation that I had no pressing reason to depart David's bed in haste; nobody knew I might be there, and David had mentioned that his diary was clear until about noon. I stretched lazily: I was not really the type to sleep late, but I was utterly willing to while away my morning in David's company.

As he rolled over I draped myself along his side and proceeded to inform him of my intentions, much to his apparent delight.

We were taking languid pleasure in one another's caresses when a knock sounded at the door. David cursed softly as we untangled ourselves.

"Lord David?" The voice was that of General Torgal, and David scrambled to throw on some clothing -- I supposed that this was uncommon enough to alarm him.

He let himself into the main chamber, leaving the door slightly ajar as he crossed to the doors which led out of his apartments. I looked around for a moment; the uniform I'd worn had been abandoned in David's living area. I pulled on the robe I had worn during our meal, unwilling to remain quite naked, and peered through the gap in the door.

"What is it, Torgal?"

The general pushed past David with a casualness that implied a long history of never having been refused entrance. "My Lord, there were rumours -- a pageboy didn't return his uniform yesterday, and a servant said he'd seen a page enter here but not leave, and I felt I should verify your..."

With perfect timing, I saw his glance fall on the uniform I had discarded the previous night, clearly tangled with David's own court clothing. He looked back at David -- who was clad only in trousers and an unfastened shirt, his hair loose and tangled. His jaw dropped.

David spoke quickly. "Torgal, do not be alarmed, I--"

The general looked absolutely horrified. "Lord David," and his voice dropped to a hiss, and I craned to hear it. "I thought better of you--"

"--it isn't what you think, I assure you."

"No? Even if the boy offered himself to you, you know better than to take advantage of a servant, and--"

I opened the door. David saw me over his general's shoulder, and I could see his expression warring between relief and alarm.

"The explanation is behind you, I'm afraid," I said lightly.

The general turned at my voice, and his expression melted from fury to dumbfoundedness.

"Torgal," David began, laying a hand on the sovani's shoulder, "it's alright."

"I promise you, I have no intention of causing David any harm," I said.

General Torgal shook his head, as if trying to dispel whatever illusion was causing him to see me. " _Lord Qubine?_ "

"I'm afraid so," said David. "I apologise for concealing this matter from you, but the situation is somewhat complicated."

"I... imagine so." The general shook his head again. "I assume this is not the first time this has happened."

"Nor will it be the last time."

The general looked startled by my assertion, but did not question it. "I see. Lord David, do I have leave to inform my colleagues of your involvement? Or am I to feign ignorance?"

David shot me a questioning look; I shrugged. They were his advisors; he could gauge their trustworthiness better than I.

"You may inform them," said David, "but it goes no further."

General Torgal nodded, and began backing towards the door. "By your leave then."

"And Torgal? Lord Qubine will be officially arriving later today; all arrangements should continue on that basis."

The general nodded, and backed out of the door. We heard him pause for a moment, and then _run_ away down the corridor.

David looked over at me, and shook his head ruefully. "Should I follow him?"

"I think perhaps you should give him time to recover from the shock."

I stepped back into the bedchamber; I suspected the mood of some ten minutes hence could not be reclaimed easily, but I wished to at least make the attempt.

He followed me, casually shedding the clothes he'd donned. "Did you see his ears? It's been an age since I've seen him quite so dismayed."

I doffed the robe, sliding back into bed. I found sovanis nearly impossible to read; I'd not realised ear position was a clue to their emotions. "Oh? He seemed quite distraught but I thought him calm enough when he left."

David settled besides me, and I wrapped my arm around him to draw him close.

"No, he's very unhappy. I imagine he will be unflinching in his comments once I am alone with him."

"Such familiarity," I murmured distractedly, running my hand up his arm. "You should not have to fear his opinion. He is your advisor, not your keeper."

David looked at me oddly. "Torgal raised me. I value his words highly."

Of course. I'd forgotten quite how close David was to his generals. "Ah, my apologies; I loathe being mothered, but you are not me."

David placed his hand on my chest, pushing me slightly away from him. "All of my generals are family to me. They will always have the right to speak their minds to me."

"Hm. Truly, I apologise." I kissed him on the shoulder soothingly. "I know they are devoted to you. And you to them. I meant no disrespect."

He relaxed into my arms then. "And I trust them, even if they are displeased with the situation."

"They will get used to the idea, I'm sure."

"Perhaps."

I kissed him again, and soon conversation was forgotten for a while.

\---

I was not present for David's meeting with his generals that day, but I'm reliably informed that three of his generals were rather outraged that he had hidden such an involvement from them. The other -- General Honeywell -- seemed to find the entire thing hilarious, and kept laughing when asked for her opinions.

I arrived to a formal fanfare in the middle of the afternoon, some time after that meeting. The generals all did a fine job of keeping their expressions neutral, though I could sense the speculation in their gazes when David shook my hand in warm welcome. The Sykes family arrived not long after I did, and to only a mildly muted version of the same formal welcome; David hugged them all warmly when they approached his throne.

While I'd spoken to them often enough on business terms, I didn't know them particularly well. I had a vague sense that David regarded them as part of his extended 'family' too. Lady Irina, in particular, he seemed to regard as his own sister. She had grown into an even closer resemblance to her predecessors; I was rather glad that this softened the resemblance she had to her brother -- I did not wish David to be too haunted by the past. John's hair was nearly entirely white by now. He'd been tasked to redirect the focus of the academy once the remnants had gone, and I was certain that the task had not been an easy one. His people had been responsible for some of the more ingenious solutions to the problems of the Dissipation; the desert cities especially had benefited greatly from his work. Marina had been a strong support to him, though her focus had primarily been on the rebuilding of Nagapur. The pair were well-liked and well-regarded.

Once the formal welcomes were dispensed with, we were briefly given an opportunity to mingle before dinner; I sought David's side immediately.

He smiled at me, and clasped his hands briefly around mine in a more intimate version of his earlier handshake.

"Robert," he said, "I am glad you are here. You remember Irina?"

Lady Irina -- well, in truth, she has no title, but I refuse to consider her lower ranked than the noblewomen of my acquaintance -- blinked a little, but was perhaps less startled by the use of my first name than I was. "Lord Qubine," she said, bowing her head gracefully. "Lord David has been informing me of your western expeditions."

"My captains have reported wonders. Perhaps if you're interested, I can send you copies of some of their reports? We have several visistones you might like to see."

"Oh," and she flushed, looking pleased. "That would be wonderful. And perhaps some maps? I would love to update the Academy's records."

"Certainly; I've meant to keep them informed, actually. And how goes your own research?"

She glanced at David, who nodded encouragingly. "I've been looking into improving the healing methods available to us."

"Ah, noble work."

"I think if I can work out a way to combine the best aspects of herb and lotion use with arts... my apologies, I should not bore you with this."

I grinned. Her enthusiasm was rather charming. "Nonsense. Have you discovered a way of replicating the potency of the herbs we used to import from Balterossa?"

"Yes! I mean, I think so. I need to reproduce my results, though." She smiled at me. "I'll send you a copy of my field notes when I return to Elysion."

David laughed. "And to think I feared you would have nothing to discuss."

"David, you wound me. I am skilled in the arts of polite conversation, and well-informed on many topics."

He chuckled, and caught at my elbow. "Irina, I must talk to the Duke here for a moment; will you be alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine!" She smiled at me cheerfully as David steered me to an alcove on one side of the room.

He released my elbow and lowered his voice. "I spoke to my generals, and they -- albeit grudgingly -- are willing to accept and support our involvement."

I nodded. "Do you wish the Sykes to know? I know you are close to them."

"I'm not certain." He frowned. "I think so; Emmy will be bursting to tell Irina anyway, and I dislike concealing much from John and Marina. They have been very good to me over the years."

"I have no objections, if so. They seem discreet."

"Ha, they are indeed." We both looked up as a bell sounded; that was the signal for dinner. We parted and he drifted over to offer his arm to Marina Sykes.

I found myself escorting Lady Irina into the hall; we picked up our earlier conversation again over dinner and I found that I rather liked this girl. I found myself wondering if she'd approve of my involvement with David; it struck me that the campaign I'd struck to win David over had neglected to consider quite how many of his allies might disapprove.

\---

The ball, as it turned out, was an even grander affair than I'd realised -- every noble family in the Northwest had been invited, along with a few notable academics, merchants and artisans -- I spotted a few mercenaries I recognised, even, mingling with varying levels of comfort.

I had been fairly determined to pursue my previously-successful tactic, but I soon discovered that David had clearly determined to have his revenge on me for the previous ball; every one of my usual sanctuaries grinningly told me to go dance with the 'other young folk' when I made to sit with them. As host, David -- and his generals -- would make their entrance later than most of the guests, so I gritted my teeth and dutifully went to pay my respects to the various noble families and their perfumed daughters.

I was, out of polite necessity, forced to partner several of said daughters for dances. After a few utterly numbing conversations -- I still cannot fathom why a woman wishing to snare a man would babble airily about her sister's hats for an entire dance -- I spotted General Honeywell making her entrance.

Eager to converse with someone of known intelligence, I claimed her first dance -- and as the highest-ranked noble there, it was a matter of courtesy for her to accept my request. I spotted some genuine disappointment amongst the crowd that they had not been favoured, and laid a few private bets about how long she'd stay unwed. She gave me an appraising look as we moved through the opening steps of a circle dance, and as we drew nearer for the walking-steps, said, "well, I can't fault his taste in looks, at least."

I grinned. I was rather pleased with my formal garb, and had been assured it was rather flattering. I looked forward to seeing what David would wear; while my formal best was more elegant than my court garb, I suspected David's tailors would take the opportunity to be as flamboyant as possible. "Why, thank you, m'lady. And you are looking very lovely too."

"Well, of course I am."

I laughed, and span her around into the next pattern of steps. We would likely not be overheard, and it would be refreshing to talk to someone about David. "I'm hoping he appreciates more than just my appearance, of course."

"Is that so? And you, what do you value in him?"

"What an absurd question." We dropped back into the walking-step sequence, and I realised that her smile had a sharp, dangerous edge. "He's a marvel; I find little not to admire."

"An excellent answer, but you are a politician and that was a politician's answer." We span again. "Be more specific."

"I value his intelligence, his grace, his charm." Her smile was still false, and I considered for the next few turns. I did not wish to claim love, I did not wish to lie to her, and I wished to appease her. "I think of him when we are apart; I crave his company, and can scarce believe my fortune when he bestows it."

Her smile softened into something more genuine. "As you should. I cannot credit this affair as good sense, but I do not believe he would risk so much for someone unworthy."

The dance led us back into a less discreet part of the floor, and so the conversation had to be dropped -- but she seemed to have formed a better opinion of me, and I was glad.

As the dance ended, Lady Honeywell turned me unexpectedly and handed me immediately into a dancing-grip with another -- Lady Irina.

I bowed my head to her, slightly bewildered, and felt her grasp tighten determinedly as we moved into the pattern of the next dance.

"You look beautiful, m'lady," I said, uncertain how to begin with her.

She flushed a little, and nodded. "And you look very nice too."

I smiled, and we gracefully moved back and forth across the floor for a while -- this dance was less structured than the one before. 

She cleared her throat. "So, I think I'm probably supposed to start by asking you if it's true. But it is, and you're serious; I can tell by how happy he is."

"He... happy?" That gave me a sudden glow of warmth. While I'd definitely noticed a change, I'd wondered if my own emotion might have coloured that perception. "I'm glad to hear that, truly."

She shrugged, and we lost the rhythm of the steps for a moment. "It's true. I'm just worried; we all are. What happens if you two fight? Or if you want to, um, marry?"

"Can you honestly say you think David would allow any harm to come to Athlum either way? Credit me with the same devotion to Celapaleis; neither of us will imperil our people over this."

She seemed to think about that for a while as the tempo of the music quickened. "That's not quite what I asked."

"Isn't it? We're not going to plunge our lands into a war, and we're not going to attempt to unite them either."

"And you don't think your involvement will colour your decisions in more subtle ways?"

I sighed. "No more than any relationship of any sort does. Politics is not impartial; all the Lords are human, and subject to human favours and disdain."

She nodded slowly, and then smiled at me with a sudden impishness. "And would you? Want to marry him?"

"I--I'm not sure it's an option, but were it then I suppose I would give it some consideration."

She laughed, and the music ended with a flourish. As we walked to the edge of the floor, she suddenly spoke again. "You know, that's a fancier version of what my brother said when I asked him the same thing."

I wasn't sure I wished for that comparison to be made. Still, it hadn't been meant unkindly. "Your brother had good sense then; I didn't know him well, but I liked him."

"Everyone liked him. It used to drive me crazy how easily he made friends."

As she spoke, she smiled faintly at someone behind my head. I turned, half-expecting to be handed to another dancing partner; instead, I found myself staring into the implacable eyes of General Torgal.

"My Lord," he said as Lady Irina made her excuses, and I wished I'd quizzed David thoroughly on how to read sovani moods. He seemed to be assessing me carefully, but I couldn't tell what he thought of me at all.

"Hardly," I said cheerfully. "I have no command over you."

His eyes narrowed further. "I can't think how I didn't realise what was happening sooner. You both smell clearly of one another's scents."

I blinked, somewhat startled. "Oh."

"I don't, however, disapprove."

And now I was genuinely surprised. "I would have thought you would prefer he settle for almost anyone else."

"On the contrary. Lord David's life is his own; if he wishes to spend any of it with you then so be it. And your actions have been honourable towards Athlum."

I crossed my arms. "What of the politics?"

"I think you both more than capable of dealing with any problems." The music slowed to a halt, and Torgal glanced towards the doors of the hall for a moment. "And perhaps in the spirit of political nicety, I should warn you not to look too startled when Lord David arrives."

"...that is a strikingly ominous warning."

It was, however, all the warning I got before the doors opened and David drifted elegantly in, flanked by his yama and qsiti generals.

He was wearing the battle-ready court outfit he'd worn years before, or a simulacrum thereof. Long white gloves, those enchanted straps he'd worn to brace the impact of his remnant's weight, the leather cuirass, the same double-layered trousers and knee-boots, that absurdly complex longcoat. Someone had braided his hair in what looked to be a very complex manner, so that it approximated the shortness of his youth. He'd even worn that strange leather neck choker. For whatever reason, the ensemble had always suited him, however ridiculous it might be.

The one very noticeable, very bold change was that the colours of the coat were no longer those of Celapaleis; they were now the crisp black and red and amber of Athlum's own flag.

There was a hesitant moment as people took in the effect of what he wore.

I began to laugh, startled and amused beyond belief, and a few people began to applaud around me as he descended the stairs. He smiled with genuine glee in his expression.

The privilege of my rank was that I was able to approach him immediately; I could ignore the polite lines of people he was supposed to clasp hands with.

He bowed to me, and I to him, and then we both laughed.

"I approve entirely. Of course, it could be seen as an insult to me, but I think perhaps my giggling like a loon will persuade people I'm not offended."

"Yes, that had occurred to me. If you don't mind, I have a way to make it clear that you've taken no offense?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"It will have to wait until I've made my formal greetings, but yes -- allow me a short while, and I'll rejoin you."

Intrigued, I drifted to one side as David made his formal greetings to the more important guests. Lady Irina joined me a few moments later, her eyes sparkling.

"Fetching, isn't it? He did insist that they not actually cut his hair even fractionally shorter; is that your influence?"

"I'm afraid so."

She laughed, and patted my shoulder. "No, I approve, it's been a while since I've seen him exhibit any vanity at all, really. And he should; he is a very handsome man."

I gave her a sidelong look. "Is that wistfulness I detect, my Lady?"

"Hmm? No, no, believe me; once you've walked in on someone kissing your brother a few times, you place them in a special non-romantic box in your head."

"Ah."

"Though I can't help but think that the two of you are a strikingly attractive pair of men; the maidens of the northwest will be heartbroken at losing you to each other."

"The maidens of the northwest had their chances."

We watched David bow courteously over the hands of a few of those maidens, his face a pleasantly bland mask. I sighed.

"And wistfulness from you, now?"

"I merely wish that it were possible to do our duties without having to be so..."

"...so formal?"

"So false. If I were to greet those ladies now, I'd be as polite and _nice_ as David just was. And I can assure you, I feel no particular fondness towards them."

She tipped her head to one side. "Isn't that the point? Watch him greet someone he likes; he smiles genuinely. The falseness is as much an insult as anything else."

"...I suppose so." I was very aware of quite how recently David had been turning that formality on me; I rather thought Irina was oversimplifying the matter.

"You suppose so? You should have watched him greet you; it's obvious how he feels about you."

I glanced at her. "I hope that's hyperbole; I don't wish to publicise our situation quite yet."

She giggled. "Yes, alright. It's only obvious that he genuinely likes you, nothing more. Aren't you used to all this sort of thing, though?"

"Oh, I am. And in the right mood, I even enjoy all this; it is essentially a big game and my position means I always have the advantage."

"So what has changed?"

I smirked. "Watching someone else play the game so deftly, I suppose."

David looked over at us with a smile, and I mentally tallied how many more courtiers he'd be dealing with before he could return; not many now.

"I'm not sure," said Lady Irina. "I get the impression you're a better actor than he is."

I wasn't certain if that was entirely a compliment. "More practised, perhaps."

"Perhaps."

I watched David kiss the cheek of the last noblewoman in the queue, and then he crossed over to General Pagus. I twitched with impatience.

Lady Irina laughed quietly. "Or perhaps you're not as good an actor as all that."

"He's clearly a bad influence on me."

She laughed and kissed me on the cheek, unexpectedly, as David approached. "I think he's precisely the opposite."

David clasped my hands in another fond welcome before bowing with a smile over Lady Irina's hand, and I couldn't help but note that she was right on several counts.

"I see you two are getting along splendidly," he said, grinning.

"We were admiring your diplomatic skills," Lady Irina said. "And your prettiness, naturally."

He laughed, and turned to me. "On that note; will you oblige me in a demonstration of our friendship?"

"Tsk, David, in front of all these people?"

Lady Irina giggled, and David's smile became slyer. "Actually, almost that."

He held out a hand to me, and I looked at it in surprise -- we'd already done the formal greeting; more public tactility would look very peculiar indeed. "I'm sorry?"

"Dance with me, Robert."

The band struck up a very stately tune, on cue. Bemused but entertained, I took David's hand, and allowed him to lead me onto the floor. I couldn't argue with his logic; this was a well-calculated move on a number of levels, and it would certainly signal that I wasn't offended.

There was an awkward moment as we both attempted to lead, out of habit, and then David grinned and switched his arms into the hold traditionally associated with the ladies' movements. It wasn't a dance which required much in the way of body contact, which was just as well; even dancing the woman's part, which he couldn't be that familiar with, David moved gracefully and elegantly enough to draw admiration. And we couldn't converse much while dancing, as we were -- inevitably -- being watched with a combination of fascination and bewilderment by most guests.

I couldn't quite let him get away with it, however. As the dance drew to a close, I pulled him towards me briefly and muttered, "Well-played, my sweet."

The endearment was enough to make him flush very faintly, and I grinned as we bowed to each other for the close of the song.

We were almost immediately set upon by various noblewomen afterwards claiming dances of their own; I feigned more weariness than I felt to escape, but David allowed himself to be drawn into promising several dances with various ladies of the court. He claimed General Honeywell's hand for a dance first, though, I noted with amusement.

Lady Irina came and sat beside me as I took the 'rest' I had claimed to need.

"I'm beginning to feel rather chaperoned," I noted dryly.

"Oh," and she flushed. "My apologies, I merely wish to avoid some of the nobles here."

"Ah." I looked over at her in a more critical fashion than I had done before; she looked lovely but perhaps a little weary. "Are the young bucks a little too persistent?"

"Aren't they always?"

I smiled, and leaned back in my chair. "Perhaps, and you are welcome to use me as a shield. But you realise that people might assume I am courting you?"

"They've assumed Lord David is courting me on several occasions. I am somewhat used to correcting that impression, believe me."

I laughed. "Are you not interested in any of the young men who so assiduously seek you out, then?"

"I... there is someone at the Academy. But we both wish to complete more of our own research projects first, before pursuing things."

"Ah." That was admirable, I supposed, even if I didn't really see how any projects would benefit from frustrated romance.

We both watched as David handed Emmy to some portly middle-aged count -- who looked ecstatic at the honour -- before bowing to one of the ladies who'd sought him out previously.

"Perhaps you should allow them to think that they were right about you and David?" I offered, after a while.

She gave me a look that bordered on a glare. "Absolutely not."

"Or about me and you, if they do indeed make that assumption?"

"Again, no. I appreciate the offer, but no."

I sighed, and looked as anguished and woebegone as I could manage. "Rejection, by such a beautiful maiden. How cruel fate is."

She gave me a suspicious look, which faded into amusement at my ridiculous expression. She slapped me lightly on the arm. "Very funny; I'd be the envy of every young woman here for involvement with either of you, and I doubt I could handle the resentment."

"I thank you for the compliment, but I suspect you're overstating the matter."

"You suspect wrong. Perhaps it's just as well you're dallying with each other; at least the ladies can sigh over your collective prettiness instead of envying your partners."

I watched David whirl about with some willowy young redhead in an unspeakably flouncy gown. "You do make me fear for the reaction should we be discovered, even so."

"And don't you think he's prepared for that? Probably more so than you are, I'd guess, given his past."

"Yes, but," I hesitated. "Forgive me, Milady, but people accepting your brother as his lover is quite a different matter to their accepting me."

She looked momentarily troubled, and then smiled. "You can deal with that when you have to. I think you're wrong, though."

"I hope so."

The music drew to a halt, and the musicians called a temporary halt. David made his way over to our table, and collapsed in exaggerated exhaustion into the seat next to mine.

"Weary already?"

"I'm afraid so. This ball is in your honour, you know; you should be dancing more."

"Ah, my knee forbids it, I'm afraid. I danced enough earlier to pacify decorum, I think."

"It's true," volunteered Lady Irina. "Just the bare minimum, mind you."

David eyed me with amusement. "Do you not enjoy dancing? I rather like it, assuming a decent partner."

"I rarely have that chance, and it genuinely does put strain upon my leg. Still, I confess I might like leading you about the floor again, if only for the shock value."

"Ha, in the interests of political decorum, if we danced again tonight I would insist on leading."

I laughed. "I think I had better quit the floor while I have the advantage, then."

Lady Irina shook her head. "This is going to descend into innuendo at any moment, I can tell."

"Not in your good presence, my Lady," I said, inclining my head at her regally.

David chuckled. "Well, Irina, what do you make of him?"

She smiled. "Not quite what I expected. But I think he'll do just fine."


	4. Chapter 4

Over the course of the next half-year or so, David and I formed rather a comfortable routine.

I continued to visit Athlum regularly, as I had before. His generals -- while they still seemed unwilling to verbally endorse it -- were willing to facilitate our relationship by making it easier for David and I to spend more time together privately when I was in Athlum. And David visited Celapaleis in return a few more times. By the third time he visited, he was able to schedule large chunks of time to be deliberately _unscheduled_. 

He spent more nights in my rooms than in the ones I assigned him. In Athlum, I spent almost every night in David's quarters. We grew a little complacent, I suppose.

It was not entirely surprising, then, when I visited the Warrior's Honour and Edmund drew me upstairs to talk rather than merely into a quieter corner. The upstairs apartment was small and cluttered and Edmund shooed me through into a sitting area filled with trinkets and hung with a colourful riot of draperies.

"So," he said, pushing me into a seat, "only friends, hmm?"

"My apologies, but what are you talking about?"

"Brother dearest, don't try to talk your way around this. There are many eyes and ears in the castle, most of whom are very loyal and do not gossip, but I have my ways and _you're_ sharing a bed with his lordship."

I coughed. "Ah, that."

"I _knew_ you were smitten."

"Yes, very well, congratulations on your insight."

"You're a lucky sod. I could just spit with envy."

Edmund didn't sound nearly as jealous as his words might have indicated. I wondered how much of his public display of attraction towards David was genuine and how much was distraction from his true interests. Perhaps I needed to make some enquiries.

"Well, I'm not sharing, so I'm afraid you'll have to live with the disappointment."

"Hmmph." Edmund gave me an assessing look. "Fair warning, brother. Don't you dare break his heart. I'm serious; I'm fond of you but I will hurt you."

"Your loyalties are noted."

Edmund sighed, and then leaned forward across the table. "I'm not joking, and I wouldn't be the only one. David is adored across the Empire; _you_ are liked but there are limits. If you tire of him -- like you've tired of every single other lover you've had, and yes I know there have been many and don't make that face at me -- you risk seriously undermining the stability of the Northwest."

"Why does everyone persist in thinking we haven't considered the political ramifications?"

"Alright then, answer me this: are you in love with him?"

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to answer that. I can't be certain what Edmund read in my face, but he exhaled as if relieved. "Good. I'll try to put a positive slant on any gossip that comes my way." He stood too, and offered me his hand. I took it, a little confused. "Well, darling, it's been fabulous to catch up, but I shouldn't keep you any longer."

Standing on the street outside, I felt distinctly wrong-footed by the whole experience.

That evening, as we sat by the fire in his rooms, I passed on my brother's concerns as information from a local agent of mine.

"Oh? Well, I suppose that was inevitable." He sipped at his wine. "What precisely does the gossip say? That we are over-close?"

"That we share a bed when I am in Athlum."

"Ah." He winced. "Well, that cuts directly to the quick of the matter."

"Lately we have not been especially discreet. I bear no ill-will to your staff about this."

"No, indeed. How far has it spread?"

"Not far, and my sources are attempting to--" what had Edmund said? He'd not promised to quash or undermine the rumours. "--to keep things from escalating."

"Well. How do you wish to act on this?"

He was looking at the fire, and I studied his profile for a moment, trying to tell if he was concerned or upset or -- it was a possibility -- happy that the truth was seeping out.

"If I thought it weren't likely to cause serious unrest, I wouldn't act on it at all."

He glanced at me, his feelings unreadable, and sipped his wine again. "Do you think our involvement likely to cause more unrest as gossip, or as admitted fact?"

I considered that. If we made some sort of public statement, before the gossips had a chance to concoct malicious reasons for our involvement, then we could diminish some of the more extreme speculation. It would alienate some conservative elements, however, especially amongst the Congress. More importantly, though, any such statement would link us together inextricably -- it would make the relationship effectively permanent. We would have to be very certain of one another, we would have to formalise our positions with regards to one another's realms, and we would suffer intense and rather prurient scrutiny for a long time.

David set down his cup, and turned towards me, his mouth twisted wryly. "You would hate it, wouldn't you."

"Hate what?"

"Proclaiming our intimacy to the world."

I shook my head. "Not inherently. It goes against my instincts but -- oh, hell. David, I am in love with you, I do hope you realise that."

He burst into laughter. I frowned; gracious, did he think I was joking?

"Sorry," he managed to say, "but you do manage to take the romance out of such declarations."

"I... ah, I suppose so. But what I mean is: I am not ashamed of being your lover."

"No, I understand." He composed himself, and then leaned in to bestow a quick kiss on my cheek. "You merely value our privacy. But I think we must relinquish it, a little."

"If we are doing so, do you suppose we should formally notify the other Lords of our involvement?"

It would make for an interesting Congress meeting. David being involved with a man would not, I thought, be a surprise to the various Lords, or at least those with a long enough memory to recall Rush Sykes. I had no idea if my own dalliances with men had been reported to the other Lords, however. David had been oblivious, it was true, but my own intelligence network did not baulk at reporting the sexual habits of my peers -- even those I'd much rather not know about.

On the whole, I thought that our gender would be only a fraction of the problem. Bertrude and Olebeag would focus mostly on trade treaties and the complicated history between our lands. I suspected that, if they could be convinced we weren't going to cause civil war, they'd regard the whole issue as rather amusing. Lombard of Nagapur and Denevor of Baaluk were both rather conservative, but would ultimately be led by whatever example Ghor set. Ghor himself was a cypher; he might find it all hilarious or might decree the relationship an abomination. Paris, I thought, would likely be our staunchest defender, but his own personal history meant that his support would be unlikely to hold much weight.

David swirled the last dregs of his wine around in his goblet. "You know they will ask us our future intentions."

And probably not just in a political sense. "Is it so complicated? We would never seek to reunify our lands in any fashion. Nor would I cede any power over Celapaleis to you, or seek any over Athlum for myself."

"In other words, our personal involvement is indeed purely personal."

"Mm." I stared at the fire. "Should we be drafting some kind of formal political contract?"

"A contract--"

"Well, marriage isn't open to us, but a mutual contract would make our intentions--"

"--I understand." I glanced over at David; he was frowning. "It is a sensible thought."

He seemed hesitant, and it took me a moment to grasp why. "Ah, damn. My apologies, apparently I am ill-suited to expressing my feelings with any trace of romance tonight."

I took his hand, and he smiled wryly. "I do not think a contract clarifying our political intentions is necessarily that romantic, Robert."

"No, perhaps not. I would honestly rather a marriage."

His smile softened a little, and he squeezed my hand. "Say that to our peers and they'll believe you when you claim to care nothing of the politics."

"Well," and I shrugged, "I would."

"I am not certain I would. I cherish you dearly, but without there being a need to apportion any titles, rights or duties to you, and without hope of issue from the relationship, I'm not sure I can see the purpose of wedding you."

That stung more than I would have anticipated. "And you say I am devoid of romance."

He tugged at my hand, as if trying to pull me closer, but I sat firm. He studied me for a moment. "You're serious?"

"That I would propose marriage to you? Entirely so."

"I mean no insult, I assure you. I've long since ceased to think of my own potential marriage as more than a legal bond." He tipped his head to one side. "I would not have been willing to consider wedding someone for the sake of Athlum's succession, if I had expected it to require romance."

"Ah." I thought for a moment; I'd considered doing much the same if no better prospect presented itself. I couldn't argue the point, but it was distinctly unsatisfying nonetheless.

He pulled me towards him again, and this time I let him at least pull my hand to his lips for a kiss. "Actually, I find it more romantic that you would willingly admit to Ghor that we share a bed."

"Your definition of 'willing' is over-broad. And you think telling that scaly old bat about our liaisons is romantic?"

"Come now. You must know what is whispered about men like us, even in lands as tolerant as mine. It is womanish to lay with another man. It is a sign of weakness or depravity. And yet, for love, you propose to admit to such, and do so to a man you have spent half your life at odds with." He shrugged. "I find romance there."

"David, I do not think anyone regards you as weak or womanish."

He flashed an amused grin at me. "Few would openly say such things of us, I know. But Ghor cares little for our status, and while he has no particular desire to demean me, you are handing him another source of insults to use."

"He frequently calls me girlish already, and I do not anticipate his insults becoming much saltier." I allowed David to pull me sidelong into his arms this time, and he kissed me softly on the lips before pressing his mouth to the skin behind my ear. "Perhaps now you'll comfort me when he tells me I'm an idiotic fop?"

"I could not have envisioned comforting you for any reason, a couple of years ago," he said in a low voice, his breath tickling the edge of my ear. "But then, I couldn't have imagined how easy it would be to love you."

I swallowed, hard, my mouth gone suddenly dry.

"I find little to be truly ashamed of in our relationship. And nothing to be scared of."

Lady Irina's words came back to me then, and I laughed. "Now, _that_ is hubris. I have it on good authority that all the ladies of the Northwest will be vexed at our withdrawal from the marriage market."

"I'm rather certain I can live with their vexation, under the circumstances."

"As can I." I turned, and kissed him gently. "Very well then. Let's cause a scandal."

\--

Ghor examined the contract, line by line, occasionally grunting a request for clarification as he went, while David smilingly answered his queries and I attempted to look as though I did not expect any serious objections. Ghor shot me a rather indecipherable look when he reached the sections that clarified that, in the event of a dissolution of the relationship, David and I would require all major policy decisions relating to each other's realms to be first agreed upon by our advisors and then ratified by the Congress, if time permitted, for a cooling-off period of several years that would be lifted only when our peers judged us capable of being objective about one another. I admit; it was extremely over-cautious legislature. But I knew I could hold grudges, and putting in safeguards in advance seemed a sensible course of action.

"Very thorough," he said, stacking the papers back into order. "Marquis of Athlum, Duke of Celepalais, if you wish to have this contract entered into the official Congress records, I'll allow it."

"My thanks," I said, feeling the tautness of anticipation lift.

David smiled. "Our thanks, Lord Ghor."

Ghor regarded us both, and picked up the large pen on his desk. "Are you planning on making some kind of announcement?"

"Yes," I said. "Rather that that let the rumours build up."

Ghor eyed me, and then actually smiled. "Hmph. Olebeag may owe me a drink. I'd been speculating that you two were working on some sort of alliance."

David laughed, lightly. "Please, tell me that the Congress has not been speculating on our love lives."

"Ha. No, I admit I wouldn't have guessed that angle. This won't be an easy path for you; I won't pretend otherwise." He tapped the paperwork. "But this, this reassures me that you're not being headstrong fools on the matter. And I'm too old to care what form love takes, as long as you're ready to weather the storms."

He had a distinctly moist glint to his eye, the sentimental old bat. "We were fortunate in recent precedent. Most of these clauses were lifted directly from the marriage agreements between Royotia and Balterossa."

"And that detail will assist when you tell the rest of the Congress, I'm certain. Well, you have me in your corner, as it were. Lombard may sputter, but he'll be overruled. And I'll be sure to rely upon your memory of my benevolence when trade negotiation season rolls around."

Ghor was as good as his word; when I stood and announced to the assemblage of Lords that I was in love with the Marquis of Athlum, his countenance was set in such fierce approval that not one of the other Lords dared to even so much as comment. David set forth the terms of the contract we had agreed, and set forth the schedule we desired -- they would need time to review the terms, but we would not wait long.

"I should note that, as head of the Congress, I have already signed my approval and agreement," said Ghor, to a murmur of mild surprise from the others. "Not that it should be needed; I scarcely see how these details are anyone's business but their own. However, they've seen fit to inform us, and to ask for the Congress to mediate if necessary. I suggest we reconvene tomorrow to accept the contract into our archives."

A series of nods greeted the suggestion. David and I spent the evening meal answering questions -- some prurient, some pragmatic, some subtle, some presuming far too much -- about our relationship. The general tone was wary approval of the existence of a contract governing the influence of our involvement, tempered with a certain amount of sly commentary on how predictable or not this development was to those who'd known us for more than a decade.

All in all, it was significantly _less_ adrenalin-inducing to make public proclamations to announce our relationship. David was an excellent orator, and his people loved him. And, cynically, perhaps they were rather prepared for the idea that he would not be taking a wife; his populace remembered Rush Sykes, and while I did not expect to come out of the comparison as a clearly superior option, his memory was likely a blessing for me. Celepalais had, rather to my irritation, a slightly less enthusiastic response to the proclamation we made there; I comforted myself with the thought that my people were merely more cautious by nature than Athlumians.

There were dissenters, and those who called us deviants and catamites. They were, largely, shouted down or mocked into inconsequence without any official retribution or rebukes being needed. My brother, I'm certain, was responsible for the _revelation_ of how much covert aid I had sent to Athlum after the Dissipation; I did not fully approve of being exposed as such a philanthropist, but the information effectively removed any opposing sentiment that lingered towards me in Athlum.

\--

It is now several years later, and -- as yet -- David and I have not needed to draw the Congress into any of our disagreements. There have been no small number of those; he is more of an idealist than I, and my tendency to assume ulterior motives in others has driven him to genuine fury more than once. And, indeed, his irritating tendency to try and soothe me even in my most piqued mood has caused me to threaten to dissolve our relationship more than once. But we have prevailed, and our realms flourish side-by-side.

You may be wondering what David's commentary on all of this is. After all, you have merely heard my side of events, and I cannot be considered the most reliable narrator.

To that end, I can only say: I speak for myself, and not for him. Perhaps he would remember things a little differently; perhaps he would recount more of the pledges I have made of my affection, in an effort to embarrass me for his own amusement. Certainly I think he would dispute how high an esteem he is held in by all, out of modesty if nothing else. I think, though, on the whole, this account is close enough that he will have only the most minor of quibbles.

But he wishes to have the last word, so I will turn this pen over to him now.

\-- Robert Qubine, Duke of Celepalais

_You are a sentimental, hopeless romantic, Robert. But that should be clear to everyone by now._

_(To the hypothetical reader of this tale: never fear. I have always had the upper hand. He will agree to anything I ask if I threaten to cut my hair, after all.)_

_Of quibbles, I have only two: firstly, your people love you more than you think, Robert. And secondly: you overestimate my prettiness._

_Ghor was right, much though I'm certain the assertion will offend you. Love is merely love; and in the hands of one as pragmatic as yourself, not so hard to steer around the obstacles life presents._

_Come, the story is done; the scandal so old that it raises no eyebrows. I am not the man I was when you first knew me. But neither am I the man you describe at the beginning of this tale. Your attentions have changed me, irrevocably, and you have given me back joy._

_Set your pen aside, and glory in your victory._

\-- David Nassau, Marquis of Athlum


End file.
